


Not According to Plan

by exclamation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Derek is secretly a geek, Eventual Sterek, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstandings, Peter cheats at chess, Scott is still a werewolf, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 67,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe. All Stiles had planned was a night at a new club to have some fun. Instead, he finds himself dealing with the owners of the club, who keep sniffing him and asking about his alpha, whatever the hell that means. Taken prisoner, Stiles is flung into a world of werewolves and territory disputes. </p><p>He knows his dad will be looking for him. In the meantime, he must survive being the prisoner of Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another of my AUs which will no doubt turn into something ridiculously long before I'm done. There will be Sterek, but it will take a while for that aspect to appear. 
> 
> In this universe, Scott was bitten and became a werewolf, but didn't tell Stiles. There are also some differences in the history of the Hale pack which will become apparent as the story progresses.

The plan was a simple one: go out and have fun. Stiles tried not to feel jealous about the fact that Scott had a girlfriend now, but it was hard not to feel a little left out at times. This Friday night, Scott was going out with Allison yet again. They were even doubling with Jackson and Lydia. So Stiles was left to spend Friday night cursing the small size of his social circle. Since the alternative was doing homework on a Friday night, which Stiles objected to on principle, Stiles decided to go out. He would hit the town, sneak into a club, have a few drinks, do some dancing and, if he was really lucky, maybe make out with someone hot. 

His grand plan involved not bumping into anyone he knew. Beacon Hills didn’t exactly have an over-abundance of nightlife and Stiles was not going to Scorch, the usual hang out for those kids from the high school who’d managed to get hold of fake IDs. Stiles didn’t even want to try Jungle because there was a chance he might run into Danny. So that left Stiles with one option: Full Moon. Full Moon was a club in an old rail depot that had been bought out and refitted. It had only opened a couple of months ago so Stiles hadn’t been there and didn’t think anyone from school had either. This was his perfect chance for anonymity. 

Stiles spent some time in his room getting ready, pulling clothes out of his closet and staring at them, wishing he had someone here with fashion sense who could make this decision easier. He didn’t just need to be dressed for a club, he needed to be dressed so that he wouldn’t get kicked out of the club for being underage. He was just trading shirts when his dad tapped on the bedroom door and peered in. 

“Got a date?” his dad asked. 

“No, just clubbing. But who knows? I might meet someone.” 

“Well, you know the rules. No having sex in a public bathroom with someone you just met.” 

“Dad!” 

“And blow jobs count as sex.” 

“DAD!” 

His dad grinned at his discomfort, “And if you drink, you’re not to get caught and if you even think about driving I will take your jeep keys and destroy them. If you need to get home, get a cab or call me. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

His dad had tried to keep Stiles from underage drinking, but in the end he’d just gone for lectures on being sensible. 

“What about that shirt?” his dad asked, as Stiles discarded yet another choice. Stiles looked where he was pointing. A black t-shirt decorated with an abstract grey design was crumpled on the floor next to his bed. Stiles picked it up, staring at it in confusion. He was pretty certain that this wasn’t his shirt. He pulled in on anyway. 

“Looks good,” his dad said. Stiles stared at his reflection and then decided to go with the mystery shirt. 

“I might be out late,” Stiles warned. 

“Well I’m on night shift tonight so I’d better not get any calls about drunken teenage escapades.” 

“I promise I’ll be good.” 

“That is a phrase that fills me with dread.” 

Stiles laugh, grabbing his coat, wallet and car keys. He headed past his dad and towards the door. 

“Love you,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Love you too,” his dad called back. 

***

Standing in the queue outside Full Moon, Stiles tried not to look nervous. He had his fake ID at the ready but he was afraid the guy at the door would take one look at it and kick him out. The bouncer was a huge black guy. He looked barely older than Stiles but he was a wall of muscle. A group of college girls up ahead in the queue caught sight of Stiles and one of them made a comment to her friends about whether Stiles needed a babysitter. The comment was loud enough that she had to have meant for Stiles to have heard it. Stiles tried not to think about it, but the guy on the door must have heard too, because he looked in Stiles’ direction. This didn’t bode well for getting inside. 

The girls got to the front of the line. Wall-of-muscle checked their IDs, took the cover charge and waved them inside. They disappeared into the club and then it was Stiles’ turn. Stiles held out his fake ID and tried to look like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

Wall-of-muscle looked at the ID. He looked at Stiles. Then… he sniffed. He drew in a deep breath with his nostrils and gave Stiles a puzzled look. Stiles suddenly felt very self-conscious. He’d showered after school so his odour shouldn’t be that offensive. 

“Who sent you?” said wall-of-muscle. 

“Sent me?” Stiles asked. Stiles wondered if they’d worked out his ID was fake and were trying to find out if he was a trap, sent by the police to get evidence about underage drinking. 

“Who sent you?” the guy asked again. 

“No one sent me. I came for the club. To go clubbing. At the club.” Great. Now he sounded like an idiot. He probably looked so nervous that he might as well have a neon sign over his head declaring that he wasn’t old enough to be here. 

Wall-of-muscle looked in through the club’s door and beckoned to someone inside. The guy that came out of the club wasn’t quite as big, but he still looked to have impressive musculature under a tight t-shirt and a leather jacket. He scowled at Stiles with an expression of brooding hotness that might have had Stiles drooling if it weren’t for the fact that this guy looked seriously scary and he was glaring like Stiles’ presence personally offended him. Wall-of-muscle pressed Stiles’ fake ID into the hand of tall-hot-and-leather. 

“I think this guy needs to see the boss,” wall-of-muscle said. 

Tall-hot-and-leather clamped a hand onto Stiles’ shoulder. Clamped was about the right word. The fingers closed against his flesh like a metal vice and they were about as forgiving. 

“If you don’t want me in the club, I can just leave,” Stiles said. “No harm, no foul.” He tried for a smile. Tall-hot-and-leather fixed him with a look that suggested smiles were not something he was well versed in. He started walking inside, the hand on Stiles’ shoulder giving Stiles no choice but to follow. Instead of proceeding into the main club, the guy steered Stiles passed the bathrooms, through a side door and into a small office. Stiles could hear the music as a low thrumming beat that vibrated through the building. 

There was a man sitting behind a desk. Stiles guessed this was the boss he was being taken to see. He was a white guy whose age was difficult to guess at, but Stiles would have estimated he was a little younger than Stiles’ dad. He was a good looking guy, apart from the fact he was staring at Stiles as though this interruption was a personal insult. At least tall-hot-and-leather finally let go of Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles rubbed a little at where that hand had gripped and turned to the boss, determined not to be intimidated here. 

“You really ought to train your goons better on acceptable use of force,” Stiles said. “I’m going to have serious bruising tomorrow.” 

“Bruising?” boss-guy said. He stood up and walked slowly around the desk, each step a careful stride with something of a predator to it. He stood right in front of Stiles, a little too close, staring at him with an intensity that made Stiles uncomfortable. It took effort not to look away. 

“I really think bruises are the least of your concerns right now,” boss-guy said. 

“Was that a threat?” Stiles asked. “Because, seriously, threatening someone over a little case of a fake ID is going seriously overboard.” 

Boss-guy looked faintly amused as he leaned even closer to Stiles and sniffed, drawing in a long breath. 

“And what’s with all the sniffing?” Stiles asked. “Your goons were doing that at the door. It’s seriously creepy.” 

“Who is your alpha?” boss-guy asked. 

“My what?” 

“Your alpha.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“This act isn’t going to help you,” boss-guy said. “Why don’t you make life easier on yourself and tell us which alpha sent you and why?” 

Stiles was getting the feeling now that they had mistaken him for someone else. Maybe these guys were criminals and his fake ID had been made by a rival group and, for whatever reason, they now thought he was involved with them. 

“Look, I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” Stiles said. “I should just go.” 

He turned towards the door and nearly walked into tall-hot-and-leather. Stiles tried to step around him, but the guy grabbed Stiles by the upper arms, fingers digging painfully into his flesh. He turned Stiles around, manoeuvred him to a chair and then pulled downwards, forcing Stiles to sit. He let go of Stiles’ upper arms, but clamped a hand on his shoulder again so that he couldn’t stand. That guy was seriously strong. Stiles wondered if there might be steroids involved. 

“Who is your alpha?” Boss-guy asked again. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles said. 

“This game really isn’t going to work with me,” boss-guy said. “An alpha’s scent is all over you. If you are a spy, or if this is a play for my territory, you should just tell me now. It will make life much less unpleasant for you.” 

He came to stand in front of the chair in which Stiles was now pinned. He brought out his hand, holding it in a closed fist in front of Stiles’ face. Stiles braced himself for a punch, when the guy opened his fist out in a sharp motion to reveal nails that were far too long, too long to be natural. They looked almost like claws. What the hell kind of person got claws stuck on their fingers? 

“Look,” Stiles said, trying not to look at the claws, “I’m not sure what’s going on here or what you think is going on, but my dad is the sheriff so I think the best thing for you to do is just let me go and we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened otherwise I will make one phone call and, believe me, my dad will make life seriously unpleasant for you.” 

He hated bringing his dad into it, but he wasn’t sure how to deal with people who were clearly pumped full of muscle-enhancing drugs and who got kicks out of attaching fake claws to the ends of their fingers and threatening teenage boys. He would rather call his dad and deal with being in trouble for being in a club underage than deal with the potentially very real trouble that these guys could cause him. 

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea bringing the police into this, do you?” boss-guy said. 

“If you don’t want the sheriff involved, let the sheriff’s son go,” Stiles said. He folded his arms and met the guy’s gaze, trying for an expression of bravery. 

“I don’t think your alpha would be happy if you bring the law into this either.” 

“Why won’t you listen to me? I don’t have a freaking clue what you mean by alpha!” 

Boss-guy tilted his head sideways, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Really?” in a tone that was a mixture of disappointment and sarcasm. 

“Really!” 

“This is your last chance to cooperate. Tell us who sent you and why.” 

“I don’t know what you’re on about! I just came here to go clubbing.” 

Boss guy turned away, heading round the desk. 

“Look,” said Stiles, “clearly something is going on here that’s pretty important to you but whatever you think I know, I don’t. I don’t have an alpha, whatever the hell that is, and I think this is a serious over-reaction to a simple matter of a fake ID. Now you’ve been all threatening and posturing and I can guarantee that I won’t be back at this club ever, so I think point made. Congratulations. Epic job. Now just let me go.” 

Boss-guy had sat down behind his desk and he’d been rummaging around in one of the drawers while Stiles was talking. Now he’d clearly found what he was looking for. He stood up, holding a roll of duct tape. He peeled back the end of the tape. 

“What the hell are you going to do with that?” Stiles asked. 

“If you’re not going to tell us anything useful, perhaps you shouldn’t say anything at all.” 

He tore off a length of tape. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “That really isn’t necessary.” 

He tried to stand up, but the tall-hot-and-leather slammed his other hand onto Stiles’ other shoulder. Stiles squirmed under his grip. He reached up to try and block the boss-guy’s hands, but he knocked Stiles’ out of the way and slammed the tape over his mouth. 

Stiles’ reaction was to try and pull the tape off again. Boss-guy caught Stiles by the wrist. Stiles looked at the hand. The claws were gone. When had he got rid of the claws? How had he got rid of the claws? 

Tall-hot-and-leather let go of Stiles’ shoulders. Before he could react, boss-guy yanked him forward with as much strength as tall-hot-and-leather. Stiles found himself slammed up against the desk. He struggled but boss-guy was too strong. In moments, his arms were pinned behind him, his wrists being wrapped in layers and layers of duct tape. He yelled into the tape over his mouth, but all that came out were muffled and unintelligible noises. With the music from the club, there was no chance of anyone outside of this office hearing him. 

They yanked Stiles away from the desk and one of them kicked Stiles’ legs out from under him. Only their hands on his arms prevented him from face-planting onto the ground. Stiles kicked out wildly, but strong hands seized his legs. More tape pinned his legs together. They yanked his legs into a bent position. More tape soon glued his ankles to his wrists. 

Stiles squirmed, trying to twist his fingers round to grasp the end of the tape. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Why was this happening? What did these lunatics want with him? 

There were hands on him again, on his ass. He yelled a protest into the tape, feeling a surge of fear for the direction this was taking. Then hands yanked his phone and wallet out of his back pockets. Now Stiles had no way to call his dad, even if he could get his hands free. Stiles had never felt so vulnerable. His entire life, no matter how much trouble he’d got in, he’d always known he could call on his dad for help if necessary. No that lifeline was gone. 

“Derek,” boss-guy said, “take our visitor back to the loft. Make sure he’s… comfortable and then give him time to think about whether he wants to be cooperative.” 

So Stiles now had a name for tall-hot-and-leather, but no way out. He just had to hope that someone would spot him as he was being taken out of here. After all, there had been people coming into the club and using the bathrooms. Someone would spot him and call the police. 

That hope died when Derek hefted Stiles into the air and Stiles realised that there was another door. He hadn’t noticed it earlier because he’d been too preoccupied with weirdly strong people with claws. Now Derek carried him with apparent ease over to that door and opened it, revealing a small parking area with a couple of cars. Stiles yelled into the tape gag but there was no one around to hear as Derek popped the trunk of a sleek, black car and dumped Stiles inside. 

Stiles’ arms were aching already from being tied and there were sore points over his arms that would be sure to bruise, but he could feel little other than the terror racing through him as the truck slammed shut and he was trapped in darkness. As the car’s engine started up, he fought the urge to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have asked about the lie-detector thing that the werewolves can do in the show. I'm working on the idea that that takes concentration - in the show they're shown to be focusing on heart rates and whether someone is sweating. I'm also working on the assumption that it's not perfect and that the signs of lying (nervousness, fidgeting, sweating, fast heart rate) are very very similar to the signs of being scared. In the first chapter, Stiles was scared and it would have been difficult to tell if he was lying.

Stiles managed to avoid crying. He focused instead on remembering what his dad had told him about what to do if he ever got kidnapped. Being the son of a cop, it was a topic that had come up, somewhere between the sex talk and the drugs talk. He had to stay calm. He had to try and convince them to see him as a person because then it would be harder for them to hurt him. He had to keep an eye out for any opportunity to send a signal to the authorities. He was supposed to not aggravate them, which would probably be the most difficult part for him. 

It was a cramped, uncomfortable journey. His face was pressed against the floor of the trunk, his arms and legs aching from the position. He couldn’t see anything and he was moved and rattled about by the movement of the car. He had no idea how long he’d been there. It felt like hours, the interminable journey broken only by turns. For a while, he tried to count the turns and guess distances based on the acceleration and breaking of the car, but it was difficult to keep track and he soon gave up on that. 

At last, the car came to a stop and the engine stilled. Stiles fought down the rising panic. He felt the car shake as a door slammed shut and then moments later he was blinking in the light. His kidnapper grabbed him around the waist, hoisting him out of the trunk. Stiles got a glimpse of a parking lot, with only a couple of other cars and no sign of any people. There died any hope of someone witnessing this kidnapping. 

The guy was still showing his ridiculous strength as he carried Stiles away from the car and to an elevator. Stiles, still hog-tied with the duct tape, was carried under the guy’s arm like he weighed nothing. The kidnapper hit the button and stepped inside. 

Stiles tried to remember everything he could see, to think of all the details in case he needed to give his dad a description later. It was a tall building, going by the number of buttons in the elevator, and his kidnapper hit the top one. Then the elevator moved with slow and noisy progress. An old building? 

When they reached the top, his kidnapper carried him out and went to a set of doors, opening them by sliding one sideways. It was something that belonged in a factory more than a place of residence. But it was a place of residence; Stiles got a glimpse of couch and table before his kidnapper carried him over to a pillar and dumped him on the ground. 

There would probably be a few more bruises to add to his growing collection. The guy moved away and Stiles tried to rock on the floor to get a better view of this place. He could see his kidnapper. The guy dumped his leather jacket over the couch and went to a wooden truck that stood beside it. He opened it up and pulled out some lengths of chain. Stiles really didn’t want to think about why that guy would have chains so readily accessible. 

He returned to Stiles then, looping the chain around the back of the pillar. Then he crouched down. Stiles couldn’t see what he was doing, but he felt hands at his wrists. The tape tore. He could finally drop his legs down straight, though they were still taped together. His kidnapper cut through the tape around Stiles’ wrists, but the sticky tape was quickly replaced by the cold grip of metal. In moments, cuffs were locked around his wrists, on either end of the chain. 

When the kidnapper moved away, Stiles pushing himself into a sitting position, testing his new freedom of movement by ripping the tape from his mouth in a painful gesture. There were a couple of metres of chain, so he could move his body. The chain wasn’t attached to anything, so he would be able to stand and slide the chain up the pillar, but he wouldn’t be able to get very far. He couldn’t see a key or a phone or anything useful in reach. 

“Derek,” said Stiles, “it is Derek, right?” His kidnapper turned to look at him, but said nothing. “Look, I really don’t know what’s going on here, but if you let me go now, it will save you a lot of trouble.” 

“If you didn’t want trouble, you shouldn’t have invade our territory,” Derek said. 

“I wanted to go clubbing,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t invading anything.”

Derek gave him a disbelieving look. Then he turned back to the trunk, putting away a few trailing ends of chain that had been dislodged. Stiles looked round the room. It was a large empty space, lit by some huge windows. There were a few scraps of furniture, like the couch, and a table under the windows, and some cabinets in the corner next to an oven. There was even a bed in the corner of the room, but it all seemed very sparse for the size of room and whoever had decorated it clearly hadn’t bothered with getting anything new or matching. 

Stiles started picking the tape off his ankles so that he would be able to run if necessary, and then he focused on trying to be seen like a person rather than a target. 

“My name is Stiles,” he said. “My dad is the sheriff. When he finds out I’m missing, he’ll tear this town apart looking for me.” 

“We’re not interested in your dad,” Derek said. “We’re interested in your alpha.” 

“I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You have an alpha’s scent all over you.” 

“You said that before but I don’t know what that even means. And I have to say that sniffing people is really weird.” 

He’d got the tape off now, but the chains wouldn’t be so easy. He needed a key and he wouldn’t be able to get it without this guy’s help. 

“Look,” Stiles said, “this is clearly a massive misunderstanding. Just let me go and we’ll pretend it never happened. Otherwise, you’ll have to deal with my dad and you’ll be facing charges for kidnapping and probably assault given all of these bruises.” 

“Do you really think your alpha will be happy if you bring the human authorities into this?” Derek asked. 

“I keep telling you, I don’t have an… Wait? Did you say human?” 

Derek looked at him for several seconds. He walked back across the room towards Stiles and crouched down in front of him, staring into his eyes from a position just a little too close. 

“Do you have an alpha?” Derek asked. 

“No! I keep telling you. I don’t have an alpha, and I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” 

A puzzled look crossed Derek’s face and he said, “You’re not lying.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Of course I’m not lying!” 

“But you didn’t react to seeing Peter’s claws.” 

“I thought it was weird that someone would stick fake claws on his fingers but I wasn’t going to start acting judgemental in front of someone who was busy threatening me with them.” Stiles saw the little flicker in Derek’s expression when Stiles used the word ‘fake’. He remembered the reference to human authorities earlier. 

“Please tell me they were fake,” Stiles said. 

Derek held a hand out between them, in front of Stiles’ face. For some moments, it looked like a perfectly ordinary hand, then the nails started growing. They lengthened, thickened, bent a little and sharpened into lethal points. A moment later, Stiles was staring at claws where there had once been nails. 

“Holy crap!” Stiles said. He tried to back away, but his back was up against the pillar. He stared at those fingers and his earlier fears suddenly seemed like nothing. He had been kidnapped by someone who wasn’t human. That explained the strength. Actually, it didn’t explain anything. How the hell could this be happening? 

“What are you?” Stiles asked. “Are you some kind of shape-shifting alien?” 

Derek gave an amused smirk, then said, “We’re werewolves.” 

“Werewolves? As in turn-into-a-wolf-on-the-full-moon werewolves?” 

“Yes,” Derek said. “Sort of. Most of us can’t transform fully into wolves. You really didn’t know any of this?” 

“No! Why the hell would you think I would?” 

“We have a strong sense of smell, and werewolves smell different to humans, especially alphas.” 

“When you say ‘alpha’ you mean, like, alpha wolf, head of the pack?” 

“Exactly. An alpha werewolf has a distinctive smell. They leave their scent over their territory and over their packs and you are covered in it.” 

“But how?” Stiles asked. 

Derek looked amused, “You’re asking me?” 

“Yes! Because none of this makes any sort of sense. This is something out of a horror movie. It can’t be real. You can’t be real. This has got to be some weird dream because someone spiked my drink in the club because I can’t believe any of this is happening.” 

Stiles felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Fear surged through him and his breath came in rapid pants. He tried to stay calm, tried to remember all the old techniques, but all he could think was that he was in the room with a monster out of a horror story, something that could tear him to pieces with magic claws, or maybe eat him. He was never going to get out of this and even if his dad came after him, he wasn’t prepared to face monsters. 

A hand touched his shoulder and Stiles realised Derek was in front of him again. He held a glass of water in front of Stiles’ face. Stiles hadn’t even noticed him fetching it. 

“Here,” Derek said. “Drink this.” 

Stiles took the water, sipping gently, in between breaths that were still coming too fast. The act of drinking let him slow his breaths, fighting down the waves of panic. The fact that Derek was trying to calm his panic was a sign that Derek wasn’t about to kill him right this second. 

“Please let me go,” Stiles said. 

Derek stood up, walking away from Stiles. He was looking out the large window when he answered. 

“I can’t,” he said. “Peter ordered me to bring you here. If I let you go, it’s a direct challenge to his authority.” 

“But it’s all a mistake.” 

“Maybe. But you know about us now. It will be up to Peter to decide what to do with you.” 

Stiles leaned back against the pillar, slumping his head back to rest on the wood. 

“Can’t you call him?” Stiles asked. “You could tell him that I really don’t know anything.” 

“We have to wait for Peter,” Derek said. 

“So he decides everything and you just follow along like a good little goon?” 

“He’s the alpha.” 

“And that would make you?” 

“A beta.” 

“Do you go through the whole Greek alphabet?” Stiles asked. He was curious, as well as terrified. At least by asking questions he could delay thinking about his impending gruesome demise. “Do you have gammas and deltas and all the rest?” 

“There are omegas,” Derek answered. “Omegas are wolves without a pack. Some packs take in stray omegas but don’t make them full betas, they’re kept at a lower status.” 

“So you thought I was what? When you thought I had an alpha, where did you think I fitted?” 

“Some packs have humans who are trying to curry favour with the alpha, trying to get the bite and become betas themselves. I assumed you were a human attached to a rival pack, spying on us in hopes of becoming a werewolf yourself.” 

“Why would I want to be a werewolf?” Stiles asked, before realising that that might come across as insulting. Insulting his kidnapper was probably on his dad’s list of things not to do under these circumstances. Not that his dad’s list had included werewolves as a possibility. 

“Superior strength,” Derek answered, treating the question seriously. “Enhanced senses, rapid healing, resistance to most diseases.” 

“And the tendency to turn into a raging monster once a month and rip people to shreds,” Stiles finished. 

“With training, we can learn to control the shift.” 

“So you don’t go about ripping people to shreds?” Stiles asked. 

Derek met his eye for the first time in a little while. He raised his eyebrow with a little smirk. 

“Only when they don’t stop asking questions,” he said. 

“Was that a threat?” Stiles asked. “Because I have to say that threats sound a lot more threatening when coming from your alpha.” 

“That’s because Peter has been known to rip people to shreds.” 

Derek walked across the room then, to somewhere behind Stiles. Stiles turned round, watching Derek in the corner of the room, pulling things out of cabinets in what he assumed was a little kitchen area. Stiles tried to process what Derek had just said. So Peter, the creepy boss guy from the club, was the alpha and someone who had, presumably, killed people. That would explain why Derek didn’t want to disobey him. It didn’t bode well for Stiles. Peter might decide to kill him just for knowing the big secret. 

“Milk and sugar?” Derek said suddenly. 

“What?” 

Derek looked at him like he was stupid, “Do you take milk and sugar?” 

“Huh? When?” 

“In coffee.” 

“Oh. No. I take it black.” 

Derek carried a mug over to where Stiles still sat and he offered it down to him. Stiles took it, surprised and a little confused. 

“Do you normally offer your kidnappees coffee?” Stiles asked. Derek just shrugged. Stiles sniffed at the coffee, wondering if he should risk it given that it might be drugged. But he’d already drunk the water and he doubted that anyone would bother drugging him when he was already chained up in their home. So he drank. It was a surprisingly good cup of coffee, fresh stuff with a hint of vanilla. 

Derek drank a mug of his own while Stiles sipped at his. Stiles was grateful for something to do because otherwise he would either panic or have more scary conversations with his werewolf captor. Plus, it was good coffee. 

When Stiles finished, Derek took the mugs and went to a small sink to wash them up. 

One question was burning in Stiles’ mind and he couldn’t avoid asking it. 

“What happens next?” 

Derek shrugged, “We wait until Peter comes back from the club and I tell him that you really weren’t sent by another pack and that you don’t know who the alpha is who’s scent is on you.” 

“How would an alpha’s scent get on me?” Stiles asked, because that was one of the many, many things that didn’t make sense about this whole situation. 

“Physical contact usually,” Derek said. “The alpha would have to be someone you were physically close to for their smell to get over you this strongly. Or it might be someone who handled your clothes a lot and got their scent on them instead.” 

Stiles went slightly cold inside. 

“This isn’t my shirt,” he said. Derek raised a questioning eyebrow. “I found this shirt in my room but I’m not sure where it came from. Holy crap! What if the alpha somehow knew I was going out clubbing and left the shirt to trick you?” 

“Did you tell a lot of people you were going to our club?” Derek asked. 

“I… No. I just told my dad I was going out. I didn’t say where.” Now that he thought about it, a conspiracy involving shirts seemed ridiculously unlikely. But if he could figure out where the shirt had come from, he might be able to figure out some of this mess. He’d just assumed it was one of Scott’s, abandoned by accident at one time when he was hanging out at Stiles’ place. 

“Take the shirt off,” Derek said. 

“What?” Stiles said. “No!” 

He folded his arms across his chest, as though shielding himself from perverted werewolf gazes. Derek rolled his eyes. 

“I want to check whether the scent is on you or the shirt,” Derek said. Stiles made no move to take it off. He’d already been kidnapped and manhandled by this guy. He had no intention of being stripped by him. 

“I could cut the shirt off you with my claws,” Derek said. 

“A few minutes ago you were trying to be nice,” Stiles said, “giving me coffee and stuff like that. You can’t go from that to threatening to rip my clothes off.” 

“Apparently I can.” 

Stiles knew he was in no position to argue. He had literally no power here, but he still wasn’t going to be cowed. He glared up at Derek. 

“You’re not getting my shirt off without dinner and a movie,” Stiles said. 

Derek tilted his head, appearing to consider this. Stiles waited for the next threat, half-expecting Derek to just jump on him and start slashing the fabric away. 

“I’ve got pop tarts,” Derek said. “And I could bring my laptop over and stream something to watch.” 

“Be still my heart,” Stiles muttered, bitter sarcasm in his tone. The situation wasn’t helped by the fact that this was the closest he’d come to a date in longer than he cared to think about. Derek seemed to take the comment as agreement though, because he started rummaging in the cupboards for the pop tarts. 

A minute later, Derek handed over a plate while he went to retrieve the promised laptop. 

“You’re a culinary master,” Stiles said. 

“You don’t want them, don’t eat them,” Derek said. 

“How do you translate me complimenting your cooking to me not wanting to eat them?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s not a compliment if you’re being sarcastic.” 

Derek had wandered away, but he returned now bearing a laptop under one arm and a pillow in one hand. He threw the pillow at Stiles’ face. Stiles nearly dropped the pop tarts trying to catch it. When he held the pillow, he gave Derek a puzzled look. Derek shrugged. 

“Peter did tell me to make you comfortable,” he said. He dragged the coffee table over so that he could put the laptop on it and give Stiles a better view of the screen. Stiles watched him work and manoeuvred the pillow so that he was sitting on one edge and the rest of it was propped against the pillar to give him a more comfortable backrest. 

“You know what would make me really comfortable?” Stiles said. “Unlocking these chains and letting me go.” 

“No,” Derek said. 

“Just unlocking the chains then?” 

Derek gave him a look, then asked, “What movie do you want?” 

“Nothing with werewolves,” Stiles said. 

He wondered how many other kidnappees had been treated to pop tarts and a movie by their kidnappers. It couldn’t have been many. Derek started up the classic Superman movie which showed that, supernatural monster or not, at least he had taste. Then he turned to Stiles, folded his arms and said, “Take off your shirt.” 

When Stiles hesitated, Derek raised an eyebrow and said, “I’ve met your conditions.” 

“Those conditions were what is generally referred to as ‘a joke’,” Stiles said. 

“The longer you wear that shirt, the harder it will be to check whether you’re telling the truth about the scent and the harder it will be to convince Peter that you’re not an enemy spy. If you’d rather let him slit your throat to be on the safe side…” Derek let the threat hang there. Stiles glared at him for several more seconds, just on principle, then he reached up and yanked the shirt over his head. 

He couldn’t do much with the shirt because he was still manacled round the pillar, so the t-shirt got caught at his wrists, trapped by the chains. Derek came back over to Stiles and crouched in front of him. He took hold of the shirt and sniffed at it. Then he leaned in to Stiles and sniffed again. Stiles tried not to flinch away, no matter how weird it was to have a stranger sniffing him. 

“You could be right,” Derek said. “The scent’s stronger on the shirt than you.” 

He held out a hand, claws suddenly extending from his fingers. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested, scooting backwards, despite the hampering chains. “You said I was telling the truth!” 

Derek slashed his claws through the fabric of the shirt, cutting it free from the chains. He gave Stiles an amused smirk and then carried the remains of the shirt over to the table by the big windows, dumping it there. 

“Taking the chains off would have been easier,” Stiles said. 

“Just watch your movie or I’ll duct tape your mouth shut again.” 

Stiles repositioned the pillow and tried to get comfortable. The movie was still playing, one he’d seen at least a dozen times before. He settled in to watch it, but it was hard to focus. He kept thinking about Peter, who would decide his fate. Derek had implied that Peter was more than willing to kill. He might have been joking, or exaggerating, or trying to scare Stiles into cooperation, but he didn’t think so. Something about Derek’s manner, more specifically, the fact that Derek didn’t want to disobey Peter, suggested that the threat was real. 

The chains were another distraction, the metal cuffs tight and rough against his wrists, and even with the pillow, it wasn’t exactly comfortable to be sitting on the floor. Stiles found himself shifting frequently, trying to find a better position. Derek, who was sitting on the couch with a book, kept looking across to glare every time Stiles moved. Stiles refused to feel bad about distracting him; it wasn’t like Stiles wanted to be here. 

As the film progressed, Stiles kept wondering how long he would have to wait until Peter came to decide his fate. There was no sign of him when the credits rolled up the screen and Derek came over to retrieve his laptop. Stiles decided to voice the question. 

Derek shrugged, “He’ll get here when he gets here. Probably not for a few hours. You should try and get some sleep.” 

“On the floor?” 

“You’ve got a pillow.” 

That seemed to be it as far as Derek was concerned. He moved about the room, putting a few things away, and then decided to get ready for bed himself. His bed was over in the corner of the room and looked annoyingly comfortable from Stiles’ vantage point on the floor. Derek kicked off his shoes and then turned off the lights, heading off to bed still fully dressed. Stiles could do little but try to rearrange himself on the floor with his head on the pillow. 

It was impossible to get comfortable. Stiles tried lying on his back. He tried curling up on his side. He tried stretching out, but that caused problems with the chains, because he could only get his hands so far away from the pillar. Every time he shifted position, the chains were a problem. They clanked noisily and got in the way, tangling around his arms. The cuffs dug into his wrists if he put his weight against them wrong. Then the floor was hard beneath him and Stiles liked having covers. Even on hot nights, he liked having something to snuggle against, but now he had nothing and it wasn’t exactly warm. The floor was rough and cold against his bare back. The chains seemed to sap heat away from him as well. 

As Stiles lay there, failing to sleep, all the aches and bruises from earlier made themselves known once more. His shoulder was the worst, where Derek had grabbed him, but there were other bumps from when he’d been restrained and thrown in the car. None of them were particularly major, but they each added another layer to the discomfort of his current position. 

Across the room, Derek gave an exaggerated sigh, turned on the lights, and glared at Stiles. 

“Don’t look at me that way,” Stiles said. “This is your own fault. Tell you what, you give me the nice, big bed and you can try to sleep when you’re chained up on the floor.” 

Derek glared at him for a minute longer, then he climbed from the bed and went over to a chest of drawers. 

“Do you play chess?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“Chess,” Derek repeated, “do you play?”

“A little. My dad used to play so I’ve played with him a few times. I’m not very good though but I know the rules, I just tend to get distracted if the game goes on too long. My dad would always take forever to pick his moves so I’d get bored and start making stupid moves just to end the game quicker and eventually he stopped asking me to play.” 

Derek stood over Stiles holding a chess board and a box. He was giving Stiles a look that was equal parts annoyed and amused. 

“That was a very long answer for a simple yes or no question,” Derek said. 

Derek sat down on the floor and set the board down between them. He opened the small box and tipped out the pieces, starting to set them up in their places along the edges of the board. 

“Peter likes chess,” Derek said. “He says it’s a good tool for teaching long-term, strategic thinking. He says I need to practice that.” 

Derek glared at the board like it had personally insulted him. When he’d finished setting up the pieces, he glared at Stiles, who had been given white. Stiles reached out and moved a pawn. 

They made a few moves. Derek was quicker at making decisions than Stiles’ dad and the game proceeded relatively smoothly, though Stiles had to be careful not to dislodge pieces with the chains when he made his moves. 

As they played, a thought accorded to Stiles and he chuckled. Derek fixed him with a questioning glare. 

“I was just wondering how to explain this,” Stiles said. “’I was kidnapped by a big, tough guy who liked to cut off my clothes, chain me up in his bedroom and play games’.” 

Derek’s glare darkened. 

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Derek said. 

“Well, I think I’m hilarious so that still leaves plenty of room to be really very funny.” 

Derek picked up a knight and moved it, slamming it down with unnecessary force on the board. He continued to glare at Stiles. 

“Your move,” he said. 

Stiles moved his bishop and then gave Derek a brilliant smile. 

“Check mate,” he said, with what was probably an unnecessary level of smugness. Derek glared at the board, as though it had somehow brought this on him and needed to be punished. 

“I thought you said you weren’t very good,” Derek said. 

“I’m not, but it turns out you suck.” 

Derek glared again, then he gathered the pieces, setting them up for another game. 

By the time they were wrapping up their third game, the sky outside the big windows was beginning to lighten. Stiles was yawning frequently, struggling to stay focused on the game, which probably explained why he hadn’t kicked Derek’s ass already. He was thoroughly tired, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep even if they packed up the board. 

Stiles had captured Derek’s queen and had his eyes set on his third victory in a row, when there was a metallic, scraping noise, and the big door slid open. Derek sat up sharply, suddenly alert, and Stiles turned to look towards the entrance to the apartment. 

Peter had returned.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well isn’t this… cosy,” Peter said. He slid the door shut behind him and then stalked across the room to the two of them. Derek stood, abandoning the game and meeting Peter’s gaze steadily. A little too steadily. Stiles was put in mind of a child trying to appear innocent when caught doing something naughty. 

Peter looked down at Stiles, at the pillow on which he sat, and then up at Derek. 

“When I told you to make him comfortable,” Peter said, “I didn’t expect you to take it literally.” 

“He doesn’t know anything,” Derek said. Stiles wanted to point out that he knew about quite a lot of things, including knowing more about chess than Derek did. He decided that, for once, keeping his mouth shut would be the better option. 

“You’ve determined that, have you?” Peter said. He looked down at Stiles again, peering down at him like he was a specimen to be examined. Stiles felt very uncomfortable under that stare. 

“He didn’t know about werewolves until tonight,” Derek said. “I’m sure of that. He doesn’t know who the alpha is. He had borrowed the shirt. The alpha’s scent is on the shirt, not on him.” 

He gestured towards the table where the ruined shirt now lay. Peter went over to it. He lifted the shirt and sniffed it. Then he returned to Stiles, bending down to sniff him in turn. Being sniffed had been creepy enough when Derek had done it. When it was Peter, the whole thing was downright disturbing. In the end, Peter straightened up and stared down at Stiles. 

“Who does the shirt belong to?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. I found it, OK!”

“Where did you find it then?” 

Stiles hesitated. He wasn’t sure that admitting he found it in his house, in his bedroom, would go down well. Peter had already proved himself willing to commit violence at the drop of a hat. If he thought the alpha werewolf was in Stiles’ house, he might go there to find him. Stiles had a sudden vision of Peter confronting his dad. His dad wouldn’t be prepared to take on a super-strong supernatural creature. 

Peter turned his questioning gaze to Derek. 

“He found it in his room,” Derek said. 

Stiles glared at Derek. He felt slightly betrayed, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Derek had made it clear where his loyalties lay. Stiles couldn’t trust him to keep from Peter anything he might say. 

“So the alpha is someone who has access to your house,” Peter said. “A friend perhaps? Or family?” 

“No,” Stiles said quickly. Peter looked amused. 

“How can you be sure?” he asked. “You claim you didn’t know about werewolves.” 

“I would know if my dad was a werewolf,” Stiles said. “I think I would notice if my dad started turning furry or howling at the full moon.” 

“The signs aren’t always obvious for those who have enough control,” Peter said. 

“My dad is not a werewolf,” Stiles insisted. 

“Someone else then?” Peter asked. 

Stiles didn’t answer, but he was thinking about the question. Who did he know who might be in a position to leave an item of clothing in his bedroom? This list was very short and Stiles couldn’t believe his dad or Scott could be werewolves without him noticing. His most plausible theory was that his dad must have found the shirt somewhere and just assumed it belonged to him, and then put it in his room. 

Peter apparently got bored of waiting for Stiles to answer. He turned back to Derek. 

“Come with me,” he said. He walked back towards the door of the apartment. Derek trailed behind him. 

Stiles was left alone. Not that it did him any good, since he was still chained to the pillar. He took the opportunity to test the limits of those restraints. It took him seconds to decide that he wasn’t going to get the cuffs undone without a key. He peered around at the length of chain, looking any weak links that he might be able to break, but it seemed that Derek kept his chains in good repair. Finally, Stiles tried to pull his hands through the cuffs, doing everything he could to make his hand as small as possible and tugging it against the metal of the cuff. That didn’t seem likely to work. Even if he could get something to use as lubricant, he didn’t think his hand was going to fit through. 

He gave up on that attempt when it became apparent that he was just adding to his bruises. He stood up and tried investigating the pillar instead. It was a very solid lump of wood that appeared to be holding up the ceiling. Stiles didn’t think he’d have a chance to break the pillar and get the chain out. If he did, he’d probably bring the building down on himself. 

Next priority, could he get a message to his dad? Unfortunately, Derek had moved the laptop away, so there was no way Stiles could get it and get online. He didn’t have a phone and there was no sign of a phone in the apartment. The only thing within easy reach was the plate he’d used for the pop tarts and he couldn’t envision a way to use that to send a distress signal. 

The door opened again. Stiles turned back to face Peter and Derek, trying to look like he hadn’t been trying to escape. If Peter realised what had been on Stiles’ mind, he didn’t appear to care. He went back to the table and picked up the shirt, returning to Stiles’ side. 

“You may not know who the alpha is,” Peter said, “but he would seem to know you. You may still be useful to us to draw him out.” 

That didn’t sound encouraging. 

“How?” Stiles asked. 

Peter slashed out with his hand, claws suddenly slicing into Stiles’ arm. Stiles yelled, more in surprise than pain, and leapt back a step, accidentally backing into the pillar. Peter caught his arm in a firm grip, keeping him from any further attempts to back off. Then Peter thrust the shirt against the now-bleeding gash in Stiles’ arm, letting the blood soak into the fabric. Now Stiles felt the pain starting, a hot throb in his upper arm. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles demanded. 

“Now we’ll see whether the alphas cares about your safety,” Peter said. 

He turned and walked away, carrying the blood-stained shirt. He let himself out of the apartment, leaving Derek and Stiles standing there. Stiles looked down at his arm. There were a couple of short, shallow cuts. Neither were dangerous. The bleeding was already slowing to a trickle. Even so, Stiles wasn’t happy about being mutilated by a werewolf. 

“Is Peter insane?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes,” Derek answered. 

A yell drifted up through the building, muffled by walls and floor, “I also have excellent hearing.” 

“I know,” Derek said, in an ordinary voice. 

“He can really hear us?” Stiles asked, suddenly panicked. 

Derek shrugged, “Werewolves have excellent hearing. So if you want to call Peter a monster or a murdering bastard or just say that you don’t like him, he’ll be able to hear.” 

“Maybe I just shouldn’t call him any of that,” Stiles said. 

“Up to you. I never let the fact he can hear me hold me back.” 

Stiles looked at Derek, confused by these comments. It was obvious that Derek would follow Peter’s orders and that he was definitely afraid of him, so it was surprising Derek would be so blunt with obvious dislike. Stiles wondered what the history was between them but decided that asking was probably not a very sensible move. There were other questions he could ask instead. 

“What will Peter do when he finds the alpha?” Stiles asked. 

“It depends on what the alpha does.” 

“Would he kill him?” 

“Maybe. If Peter thinks his territory is at risk, yes.” 

Stiles tried to hold back his nerves. He honestly didn’t believe his dad or his friends could be werewolves, but that might not matter if Peter believed they were. Peter had already acted without any evidence. If he decided Stiles’ dad was the alpha, there would be blood. 

***

Scott was woken up by his phone jangling away on his bedside table. The ringtone, which had seemed like a nice, cheerful tune when he’d chosen it, now seemed infuriating. He emerged from under a mound of bedclothes and reached out for the phone, jabbing the answer button, and silently plotting the gruesome demise of whoever was on the other end. 

“What?” he demanded. 

“Sorry that it’s so early,” a voice said. “I just wanted to check whether Stiles crashed at your place. He’s not answering his phone.” 

“Huh? What?” Scott asked. His brain was still trying to get into first gear. He couldn’t work out why someone would be calling him about Stiles first thing on a Saturday morning. 

“Scott, this is Stiles’ dad,” the voice said, a little slower this time. “Is Stiles with you?” 

“No,” Scott said. 

“Did he go home with another friend last night?” 

Scott was still not fully awake, but the worried tone in the sheriff’s voice were starting to wake him up very quickly. He sat up in bed, trying to get his thoughts to work clearly. 

“I didn’t see Stiles last night,” Scott said. 

“You weren’t out clubbing with him?” 

“I was on a date with Allison. He said he’d make other plans.” 

“Do you know who he was out with?” 

Fear was driving the last remnants of sleep from Scott. 

“I don’t know,” Scott said, feeling like a terrible friend the more he realised he didn’t know. “I said goodbye to him after school and I don’t know what he’d planned to do.” He tried to think who Stiles might have gone out with. He knew that he’d gone to Jungle with Danny a couple of times, so he might have done that. He wasn’t sure about saying that to the sheriff though because he wasn’t sure how much Stiles had revealed about his sexuality to his dad and Scott didn’t want to be the one to accidentally out Stiles as bi. 

“He’s not at home?” Scott asked. 

“No. His bed’s not been slept in and I can’t get an answer on his phone.” 

“I’ll call around,” Scott said. “Maybe someone from school will know where he went.” 

“You do that. I’ll call the station and get the deputies to keep an eye out.” 

Scott could practically hear the terror in the sheriff’s voice. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to get home and discover that Stiles wasn’t there, and it wasn’t like Stiles to not answer his phone. 

Scott tried to tell himself he was being paranoid. Stiles was probably fine. He had probably crashed at the house of whatever friend he went out with. Or maybe he’d got lucky and he’d had another reason for not needing his own bed. He repeated reassurances in his mind as he pulled up Stiles’ number from his contacts list and tried to call him, just in case Stiles had just not wanted to talk to his dad. 

The call went straight to voicemail, which wasn’t a good sign. 

Scott tried a few other numbers, getting a variety of grumpy responses as people were woken up too early on a Saturday morning. No one had been out with Stiles last night or knew who he might have been out with. They didn’t even know where Stiles had been. Scott had hopes of Danny, but Danny said he’d not seen Stiles, even though he had been at Jungle himself. A couple of the guys on the lacrosse team said that they’d been at Scorch and they claimed not to have seen Stiles either. It was possible that they’d just missed Stiles in the Friday night crowds, but at dead end call just added to the fear. Where the hell was Stiles?


	4. Chapter 4

“I need to use the bathroom,” Stiles said. Derek had been reading on the couch again. Now he looked across at Stiles and glared, but he stood, putting down the book. He walked across the room to the set of drawers where he’d kept the chess set. Now, he dug around inside until he came out with a ring of keys. 

“If you try anything stupid,” Derek said, “I will break your leg to keep you from running away.” 

“Clearly you’ve learned persuasion techniques from Peter. Come on, I really do need to pee.” 

Derek crossed the room to him. Stiles had stood up now in front of the pillar and held out his arms towards Derek. Derek reached out and slid a small key into the lock on one of the cuffs. Moments later, the chain fell away from that wrist, but Derek took a tight hold of the chain and made no move to unlock the other wrist. 

He started walking across the room to a small doorway, using the chain almost as a leash. Stiles had no choice but to follow. Derek opened the door to reveal a small but serviceable bathroom, with toilet, sink and shower. There were no windows and no other doors, no way for Stiles to escape from this room, but that didn’t stop Derek taking the loose cuff and locking it around the towel rail. Only once he was certain that Stiles was secure did he leave the room, shutting the door behind him. 

Stiles took a couple of minutes to do exactly what he’d said he would do. He’d needed to go for too long but not been sure how to ask. Once he was done, he looked around the little bathroom, trying to work out how much freedom of movement the chain would give him. 

“I’m taking a shower,” he called through the door. 

To his surprise, Derek called back, “OK.” 

Stiles stripped off his clothes, dumping them in a little pile on the bathroom floor. The room was small enough that he could reach the shower and get under the spray. Given the state of the rest of the apartment, he was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the water pressure. A hot spray flowed over him and Stiles scrubbed himself clean, washing away the terror sweat as well as the blood that was drying on his arm. He borrowed Derek’s shampoo, on the grounds that it was the least his kidnapper owed him. 

He stood quite a while in the shower, enjoying a moment of privacy as well as the chance to get clean, but eventually he had to get out. He scrubbed himself dry with a towel off the rail and then pulled his clothes on. When he was finished, he called out to Derek again. 

“Can I borrow a shirt?” he asked. 

There was no answer. Stiles stood there in the bathroom, hair damp and still shirtless, still chained to the rail. He was beginning to wonder if he should call again when the door opened. Derek threw a t-shirt at him. Stiles caught it, then waited for Derek to unlock him from the towel rail. It took some manoeuvring to feed the chain through the sleeve of the shirt, but then he was able to pull it over his head. It was a simple, white t-shirt, a little loose around the shoulders. 

The instant Stiles was dressed, Derek tugged on the chain, leading him back into the main room of the apartment. 

“Can’t I be chained up somewhere more comfortable?” Stiles asked, as Derek seemed set on taking him back to the pillar where he’d spent the night. 

“No, but I can gag you again to keep you from complaining,” Derek said. 

“I’m sure I can irritate you just as much gagged as I can by talking,” Stiles said. “You really should just let me go. Less irritation all round and everyone will be happy.” 

“No.” 

“You could tell Peter I overpowered you and escaped.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

Derek towed Stiles back to the pillar and looped the chain around it. He took Stiles’ free arm and locked the cuff back into place. Stiles considered putting up a fight, but Derek had already demonstrated his impossible strength. Stiles knew he wouldn’t actually stand a chance and so it seemed better to pretend cooperation. Maybe he could lull Derek into a false sense of security so that he had some chance of an escape in the future. Not that that seemed very likely either. 

Stiles looked down at his rechained wrists. He sank back down to sit on the pillow, leaning back against the pillar and trying to think of all the escape plans from adventure books he’d read over the years. 

The worst thing was that Stiles knew how worried his dad was going to be when he didn’t come home. 

“I want to let my dad know that I’m OK,” Stiles said. 

“No,” Derek said. 

“You’re wanting to get the attention of the alpha, but surely you don’t want to police out hunting for you.” 

“No.” 

“Just let me call him. Let me tell him that I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere.” 

“No.” 

“Is that the only thing you’re capable of saying?” 

Derek looked at him and quirked an eyebrow, saying, “No.” 

Stiles slumped back against the pillar. He glared at Derek. 

“My dad will have the entire Beacon Hills police force out looking for me. He’ll leave no stone unturned. You don’t want human police involved; Peter’s said as much himself. The best thing to do is to just let me go now and I can bluff my way out of it. I can claim I stayed the night at a friend’s house.” 

“Peter told me to keep you here,” Derek said. 

“Why do you do what he tells you? It’s obvious you hate him.” 

“I hate him,” Derek said, “but he’s my alpha.” 

“And that’s all there is to it.” 

There was a tiny, almost imperceptible hesitation, and then Derek said, “Yes.” 

***

Scott headed over to the Stilinski house on his bike, arriving just as the sheriff was heading out to his patrol car. Scott was off his bike in seconds. 

“Have you heard something?” he asked. 

“Parrish called,” the sheriff answered. “They’ve found the jeep, parked over near Full Moon, that new club over in the old railway depot. I’m heading over there now.” 

“I’ll come too,” Scott said, thinking he might be able to catch a scent, follow Stiles’ trail that way. 

“No.” 

“But…” 

“No,” the sheriff said again. “Stay here. If Stiles shows up or calls or anything, call me.” 

The sheriff got into the car without waiting for an answer. Scott could understand his point. After all, the sheriff didn’t know about Scott being a werewolf, he couldn’t know that Scott would have his own ways of tracking Stiles. As far as he was concerned, Scott was just a minor who would be put in danger if he was following the sheriff to possible crime scenes. But Scott couldn’t just accept that. 

Scott got onto his bike and set off across town, heading in the direction the sheriff had taken. He’d never been to Full Moon, but the name sounded ominous to his ears. It could just be a coincidence, but Scott couldn’t help but worry that there might be werewolves involved. And if there really were werewolves involved, Stiles could be in an incredible amount of danger. Scott remembered the wildness of his first couple of full moons, how dangerous he’d been. He remembered the moments when his temper had flared and he’d nearly changed, nearly killed someone. Every waking moment since he’d been bitten, he’d been in a battle against himself, trying to squash down the part of him that was a monster. What if Stiles was surrounded by a whole pack? What if he was his usual sarcastic self and annoyed one of them into changing? 

Scott was jerked out of his thoughts by a horn blasting at him. He’d been so busy fretting over Stiles that he’d managed to go through a junction without even noticing it. He forced his attention back on the road. He wouldn’t save Stiles by getting himself killed in a traffic accident. 

Scott found a parking lot a couple of blocks away from Full Moon and he pulled his bike in. He spotted the two police cruisers parked near to the familiar jeep and so he parked up next to them. The sheriff, who’d been peering into the jeep, now turned to give him a glare. 

“I told you to stay at the house,” he said. 

“My best friend is missing, did you really think I’d listen?” Scott asked. 

“You and Stiles have far too much in common.” 

The sheriff turned his attention back to the jeep, checking inside for anything out of place. The jeep looked normal to Scott. 

“Anything?” he asked. 

The sheriff shook his head, “Looks like he just parked here to go to the club. No sign of foul play here. I’m going to question the staff at the club.” He looked to Deputy Parrish, who was waiting by the other cruiser, “Keep an eye on the scene and keep him out of trouble.” 

He jabbed a thumb in Scott’s direction. He started to walk off. Scott moved to follow him, but the sheriff stilled him with another glare. 

“I know you’re trying to help, but you need to let the police handle this. If you try to follow me, Parrish is going to handcuff you and stick you in the back of his car. Understand?” 

Scott gave a reluctant nod. He hated being treated like a little kid, like he was useless. He returned to the jeep, looking in through the windows. It looked the same as it always did. The sheriff was probably right; Stiles had parked here and left while everything was still normal. 

“We’ll find him,” Parrish said. “You know the sheriff will stop at nothing to get him back.” 

Scott nodded, but he didn’t feel at all reassured. The sheriff would try but he didn’t know what he was getting into. No one knew what they were getting into. Scott closed his eyes and tried to focus on Stiles’ scent. 

He’d known Stiles a long time, spent much of his waking life in his company, so the scent out to be easy to identify, familiar. But there were too many other scents. Fuel and metals and oils from the cars that came through this place every day. There were scents from other people, mingled sweat and traces of urine from where drunks hadn’t been able to find a bathroom in time after their nights out. There was a smell of old alcohol mingled with dog faeces and a million unidentifiable scents. He could find Stiles’ scent around the jeep, but further away it was lost in a chaos of faint smells. 

“Are you OK?” Parrish asked. 

Scott opened his eyes and tried to not look like a crazy person who’d just been sniffing the air around his friend’s car. 

“I’m just worried,” he said. He wiped his eyes, hoping that any sniffing Parrish might have noticed would be interpreted as him trying not to cry. 

Following Stiles’ scent wasn’t going to work. Maybe if could get closer to the club, he might pick up something, but it didn’t seem likely. There had been too many other people here and Scott wasn’t good enough to pick out one scent from the rest. He wished he’d been able to follow the sheriff and hear what he was saying to the club staff and vice versa. He could give Parrish the slip but he didn’t think that would be the slightest help. 

Scott paced around the jeep. He wanted to go to the club. He needed to go there, even if just to check whether he could smell werewolves there. He could tell Parrish he was heading home, ride round the block, and approach the club from another angle. But Parrish was unlikely to be fooled. He should have just stayed out of the way of the sheriff and not let him know that he’d followed. 

He checked his phone for what felt like the thousandth time that day and tried calling Stiles. Naturally, there was no answer. Stiles would have responded by now if he was alright. Scott could call his mom again, who was at the hospital and who had promised to keep an eye out and let him know at once if Stiles was brought in there, but she was working and she would have said something if she knew anything. Calling her at work wasn’t going to do anything. 

He hated feeling so useless. 

It felt like he'd been waiting forever when the sheriff returned, holding a portable hard disk in one hand. He passed this to Parrish. 

“Security camera footage,” the sheriff said. “Although apparently the camera above the entrance was vandalised a few days ago and hasn’t been repaired yet, which is awfully convenient.” 

“Was Stiles there?” Scott asked. 

“The bouncer thinks he recognises Stiles’ picture. Apparently Stiles tried to get in with a fake ID but the bouncer turned him away at the door. Parrish, I want you to take that footage back to the station and go over it, just in case Stiles snuck in later or they’re lying about turning him away.” 

“You think they’re lying?” Parrish asked. 

“I don’t know. Something’s not right. The manager was too happy about giving me the security footage, even gave me the hard disk to put it on. Anyone that keen to help a police investigation makes me suspicious.” 

“You’re suspicious when they don’t want to help,” Parrish pointed out. 

“There’s something not right about that place,” the sheriff said. “It may be nothing to do with Stiles. Maybe there are drug deals going on in the bathrooms and the staff turn a blind eye. Either way, I want you to go over that footage and look for anything out of place.” 

“You got it.” 

“What can I do?” Scott asked. 

“You can go home and stay out of trouble. I mean it, Scott. We’re already looking for one lost teenager, I don’t want another one on my list.” 

Scott wanted to argue, but he pretended agreement. The sheriff glared at him until Scott got on his bike and started it up. Scott set off in the direction of home and even rode that way for a few blocks before looping back around, keeping his distance so that he didn’t end up driving past the sheriff. He found a quiet area to park his bike and then headed on foot back towards the old rail depot. 

He was still a couple of blocks from the club when he stopped short. A smell invaded his nostrils, terrifying him to the core. It was the smell of blood. 

Scott ran towards the scent, ducking into a narrow alley that ran between two old buildings. Every step, he felt more frantic, terrified of what he might see. As he got closer, the smell of blood mingled with other scents. There was Stiles’ scent, rich with sweat and terror. There was his own scent somehow, and the scents of other werewolves. 

Scott wasn’t sure what he’d find, half-expecting to see a dead body dumped in the alley. The torn shirt wasn’t so bad, but it was still enough to fill him with a sense of dread. It had been left tucked between a fire escape and a trashcan, a crumpled pile of cloth marked with blood. 

It had been left by werewolves, Scott was sure of that. He could smell their scents left on the cloth. They must have known that a werewolf would be able to pick up that scent and he wondered if that might be the point. 

“Can’t you do what you’re told just once?” a voice cut into his thoughts. The sheriff was standing in the entrance to the alley. 

“I’ve found something,” Scott said. The sheriff came over to his side. The way his face paled told Scott everything he needed to know. 

“This was the shirt Stiles was wearing last night,” he said. 

“There’s blood on it.” 

The sheriff looked around, but there was no sign of blood on anything else nearby. Any injury couldn’t be too serious, but that didn’t make it any less worrying. 

“Have you disturbed anything?” the sheriff asked. 

“No,” Scott said. “I haven’t touched anything.” 

“Good. I’m going to call this in and get a forensics team down here to document the scene. Then I’m going to start canvasing the neighbourhood and see if anyone saw anything. If I tell you to go home, is there any chance whatsoever that you’ll listen to me?” 

“No,” Scott said. 

The sheriff sighed and dragged a hand across his face. It was a frustrated gesture that Stiles sometimes used. Seeing it now just emphasised the fear Scott was feeling. 

Was he meant to find the shirt? There wasn’t a lot of blood, but it was a powerful scent. Scott couldn’t help feel that there was something deliberate about the way this had been left here. He needed to find the werewolves who’d left it, and he had a strong suspicion where he’d find them. He had to get into that club. 

One question was burning in his mind. Why Stiles? Why would someone target him? 

Scott looked at the dirty shirt, left in its hiding place. It was familiar. He couldn’t see it clearly, but he still thought he recognised it. It was his own shirt, forgotten at Stiles’ house after he’d done some lacrosse practice with Stiles and wanted to change into something clean. No wonder he’d picked up his own scent on it. He wondered if other werewolves had too. Was whatever was happening to Stiles happening because of him?


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles managed to doze a little. He was thoroughly exhausted, not having slept the night before. He still wasn’t comfortable, and there was still more than a little worry whirling through his thoughts, but he was able to shut his brain off a little and fall into a fitful sleep on the floor of the apartment. 

He was woken by the sound of Peter returning. He sat up, hoping but not really expecting Peter might say that he could go. That thought was proved wrong quickly enough. Peter went over to the kitchen cupboards and peered inside, before turning to Derek. 

“Go and get us some real food,” he ordered. “We can’t have our guest starving while we wait for his alpha to respond.” 

Derek stood up and walked towards the door, but then he paused. A worried look crossed his face. 

“You’re not going to torture him, are you?” he asked Peter. 

Stiles hadn’t considered the idea that Peter might torture him, not since his capture at the club anyway. Now the thought was there and he had to wonder why Derek had thought it worth asking. Did Peter make a habit of torturing people? 

“Now, now,” Peter said, “your lack of faith is disappointing.” 

“Are you going to torture him?” Derek asked. He was standing by the doorway, arms folded, making no further move to leave. 

“Is there so little trust in the world that you would ask that question of your own uncle?”

Stiles was getting more than a little nervous about the fact that Peter wasn’t giving a direct answer. Surely if he wasn’t going to hurt Stiles he would have just said so. The fact that he wasn’t giving an answer was a very worrying sign. Derek just stood there, staring at Peter with a firm look on his face, waiting for some sort of assurance. Stiles was quite glad in a way that Derek was taking his side in this, even if he wasn’t directly challenging Peter by, say, letting him go or anything. 

Peter rolled his eyes and said, “I’m not going to torture him.” 

Only then did Derek give a short nod and leave the apartment. Stiles sat up against the pillar, tucking his knees up in front of him like a shield. He looked nervously towards Peter, who was looking back at him with an intensity Stiles didn’t like. A thought kept creeping into Stiles’ mind: Peter was the sort of person who would easily lie. 

“My nephew seems to want to protect you,” Peter said. “Strange that. He normally doesn’t like… well, anyone.” 

“He doesn’t like me,” Stiles said. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“If you like someone, you don’t keep them chained up on the floor.” 

Peter smirked at that, “I’ve been to a few clubs where the guests would disagree with you on that.” 

So his creepy kidnapper was now making jokes about bondage. Stiles wondered if this guy was trying to achieve some sort of record in creepiness. 

Peter walked across the apartment. He seemed perfectly happy to wander around Derek’s place like he owned it. Maybe he did. Stiles had been working on the assumption that this was Derek’s home, but maybe it was Peter’s. Maybe they both lived here. Either way, Peter went to the drawers Derek had been using earlier. He dug around until he found the chess set and then returned to Stiles. 

“Let’s see if you can give me a challenge,” Peter said. He sat down smoothly onto the floor beside him, crossing his legs and setting the board down between them. Stiles was still feeling too exhausted to be a particularly challenging player. Plus, Peter could probably kill him in a heartbeat. It was like playing against a wookie. 

Peter set up the board, giving Stiles the white pieces. Stiles moved a pawn in a standard opening, waiting for Peter’s response. Peter considered and then moved his pawn in mirror of Stiles. He seemed more interested in watching Stiles than the board, which was disconcerting. 

“Chess is an excellent way of training the mind,” Peter commented, once Stiles had made another move. “It teaches you to think several moves ahead, to try and predict your opponent’s thoughts, to understand what they are likely to do next.” 

“It’s too rigid,” Stiles said. Clearly sleep deprivation wasn’t helping his sense of self-preservation, because arguing with a werewolf wasn’t a sensible life choice. 

Fortunately Peter seemed more curious than angry. He raised an eyebrow and said, “How so?” 

“Early researchers in artificial intelligence did loads of work on chess,” Stiles said, “because they considered it the epitome of intelligence, but it works really well for computers because it’s so structured. There are fixed rules. For every state of the board, there are a finite number of moves. You can define the whole environment, every move, every board position, every possibility. It’s not like the real world where at any point there are an infinite number of options. Playing chess teaches you to follow the rules as they are presented to you; it doesn’t teach you to think about the non-obvious solutions. Chess doesn’t work if you want to do something your opponents really won’t expect.” 

Peter seemed to consider this. Then he picked up his knight and moved it to take one of Stiles’ pawns. His move involved the knight going three spaces forward instead of two, which made it illegal. As he set the captured piece down beside the board, Peter looked at Stiles, something challenging in his expression. 

Stiles could complain about the unfairness of it. He could argue about the fact that Peter had broken the rules, but he’d just been talking about the drawbacks of the rigid nature of chess, so complaining about Peter not being rigid would seem like a surrender. So Stiles tried to come up with a less rigid response. 

He reached out and picked Peter’s knight off the table. 

“Your cavalry were exhausted by travelling extra fast to get to the battle,” Stiles said, “so they were injured in the fight with my pawn and succumbed to their wounds.” 

Peter nodded and gave the board a considering look. After about a minute, he moved one of his pawns back a space; another illegal move. 

“My forces executed a cautious retreat,” Peter said. 

The game continued in this vein. Sometimes they would make a legal move, but more often they would break the rules, coming up with some sort of justification or explanation for what had happened. If it weren’t for the fact that Peter might kill him, Stiles would have found the game a lot of fun. It was the only game of chess he’d ever played that involved moving the opponent’s pieces and claiming bribes, or having a bishop train a rook in how to move in diagonals, or moving two pieces in a coordinated assault. It was difficult to say who might have been winning, until the moment Peter removed one of Stiles’ bishops and two pawns that had been on adjacent squares. 

Stiles looked to Peter for an explanation. 

“One of my spies planted a bomb in the church,” Peter said, “taking out the bishop and the church’s congregation.” 

Stiles stared at Peter, then said, “That’s horrible.” 

Peter just shrugged. Stiles stared at the layout of the board, which was fairly chaotic and could not be achieved by any legal game. He didn’t want Peter to win, especially not with moves like that, though he wasn’t entirely sure that the usual criteria for winning still applied. 

Stiles reached across the board and moved one of Peter’s pawns backwards to take Peter’s king. 

“Your subjects are horrified by this massacre,” Stiles said, “and have started a rebellion against such a cruel leader. The pawns have decided that their king has crossed a line and will no longer follow him, so they stage a coup and executed the king for war crimes.” 

“My pawns are loyal,” Peter said. 

“No one is unquestioningly loyal. It’s always possible to do something too horrible that makes them turn against you.” 

Stiles set the king down on the floor beside the board, folded his arms, and glared at Peter. Peter looked down at the board, a faint smile on his lips that was somehow more worrying than when he’d looked angry with Stiles. He met Stiles’ gaze. 

“In light of her husband’s murder,” Peter said, “the queen sends out a request for peace talks, inviting your leader to meet and end the slaughter.” 

Stiles looked at the board. Most of the pieces had been captured under dubious circumstances so there weren’t many still in play. Stiles remembered what Peter had said earlier about trying to work out what the opponent was likely to do. Stiles wondered if this was as much about Peter trying to learn him as it was about the game. If Stiles refused Peter’s offer in the game, Peter might be more likely to consider him an enemy in reality. It was possible that Peter had some future move planned for the pieces on the board and this was the start of a trap, but maybe that could work to Stiles’ advantage too. If he lost the game, Peter might be inclined to underestimate him in reality. 

“My king accepts,” Stiles said, “and agrees to meet in a neutral location.” 

He moved his king and Peter’s queen into a relatively empty area of the chess board. 

“They sign a peace treaty and then my queen proposes a toast to the end of bloodshed,” Peter said, “but she slips poison into the wine glass. And then she tears the treaty up.” 

Peter removed Stiles’ king from the board and gave another of his cold smiles, watching for a reaction. Stiles didn’t want to lose to Peter at this fake game, but he could see why it would be a dangerous idea to make too much of a fuss about this. 

Stiles' queen was still in play. He could declare her the new leader of his side as Peter had. Most of the major pieces were dead, but there were still some pawns scattered about. But there was another option, inspired by an old Doctor Who episode he’d once watched. 

“The pawns join forces,” he said. “They’re sick of the mindless violence and the backstabbing, so they declare a new world order and kick out the old leaders. Victory for the common people.” He pulled both queens off the board. “Viva la revolucion.” 

Peter looked at the board. There was a roughly even number of pawns and only a couple of other pieces left on either side. He looked at Stiles and gave a slow nod, acknowledging the game end. 

“As leaders of the old regime,” Peter said, “I suppose we both lose.” 

“But it’s a victory for chesskind,” Stiles said. There was a look on Peter’s face that was slightly bewildered and slightly amused, then he shook his head with a little smile. Stiles would never in a million years have predicted a game like this, but he thought he was finally following his dad’s advice about getting his kidnappers to see him as a person. He thought Peter had entertained by this bizarre game and Stiles hoped that would make it harder for Peter to hurt him. 

The door slid open and Derek returned. The timing of it made Stiles wonder if he’d been lurking somewhere until the game finished, or if it was just lucky on Derek’s part. Either way, Derek walked into the room carrying a plastic bag from which emerged an enticing aroma. No one had offered Stiles breakfast, so he was definitely drawn to the contents of the bag. 

“And so my pawn shows his true colours,” Peter commented. 

“What?” Derek asked, face sullen. 

“You know I don’t like Chinese.” 

Derek met his gaze calmly and said, “You said this food was to keep Stiles from starving.” 

Peter sighed, “Well, I can see when I’m not wanted.” 

“Maybe people would want you more if you didn’t refer to them as pawns,” Derek said. 

“It’s Stiles’ metaphor, not mine.” 

Peter let himself out at that. Derek glared after him until he was out of sight and then kicked the chessboard out of the way so he could start unloading the take-away cartons from the bag, setting them on the floor beside Stiles and then going to grab cutlery from the kitchen area. Stiles started digging into the food. It was only a minute later, when presumably Peter had had a chance to get out of earshot, that Derek turned to him. 

“What was he talking about?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t know. We just had the weirdest game of chess ever, but I don’t know what he meant about metaphors.” 

Stiles quickly explained the game of rule-breaking chess, insomuch as such a game could be explained. Derek’s expression darkened with every word, particularly when Stiles got to the bit about the church bomb and the pawn rebellion. 

“You basically told Peter that I’m plotting against him,” Derek said. 

“No, I didn’t! I was talking about chess.” 

“You told him that people will turn against their leader if he does something too horrific.” 

“But the only way he’d think I was talking about him would be if he did something…” Clearly Stiles’ brain was not functioning properly because of the lack of sleep. There was no way it should take him this long to connect the dots. 

“What did he do?” Stiles asked. 

“He killed my sister.” 

Stiles had expected something bad, something on the levels of the church bombing in the game, but that wasn’t an answer he would ever have guessed. Derek hadn’t said it like it was something he just suspected, but something he was absolutely certain of. 

“What happened?” Stiles asked. 

“My older sister was the alpha. She and Peter were out in the woods. Then she ended up dead. Peter claimed they were arguing and he lost control for a minute. He said she was trying to calm him down, so she didn’t fight back right away, and he didn’t regain control until it was too late.” 

“You really don’t sound like you believe that.”

“Peter was the one who taught me control. I know that it can happen that a werewolf can lose it for a short time, but Peter’s always had excellent control. No, I think he attacked Laura deliberately so he could steal her powers.” 

“So why do you still follow him?” 

“Because he killed my sister before he had alpha powers. Now, he’s more dangerous than ever. I’m not going to be able to kill him without some serious advantage on my side.” 

Stiles looked at Derek seriously, then said, “So you are plotting against him.” 

Derek didn’t answer. 

***

Scott had been kept under the watchful eyes of various deputies, with the intent of keeping him from interfering with crime scenes. He’d watched people taking pictures of the alley, noting every detail, and bagging up the shirt for some tests. The officers had combed the area for any other signs, or for any more blood, but turned up nothing useful. Scott strongly suspected that the shirt had been planted there. Given the scent of werewolves all over it, he guessed it was meant for him rather than the police. 

Scott needed to get out of here, but the sheriff had already seen him leave and come back once, he wasn’t going to believe it easily it Scott said he wanted to go. So Scott made a point of playing bored for the other deputies. He started off trying to get views of the crime scene then, when they kept him away, he let his frustration show. After a while, he thought the deputies would believe that he was frustrated and bored, because he genuinely was. After a little while longer, his stomach started growling audibly. The deputy who’d been babysitting him gave him a sympathetic look. 

“Look, kid,” he said, “just go home. Go get some lunch and just keep out of the way or the sheriff will probably arrest you, the mood he’s in.” 

Scott nodded and slipped away from the crime scene without complaint. He listened out for other people as he made his way along, taking a looping route back towards the club. Whenever he heard someone approaching, he ducked into empty doorways or into open shops, until he could tell whether the approaching feet belonged to cops or not. In one such stop, he actually took the opportunity to buy a baguette and calm his grumbling stomach. Then he headed back round to the club. 

It was shut up and dark, a dirty and unappealing place in daylight. The main entrance was firmly closed, and probably locked, so Scott walked around the building, looking for another way in. He found what looked like a ramp down into a parking lot, so he took that route, finding a few parking spaces in the dimly lit space beneath the club. Most were empty, but there were a couple of cars there. 

In the closed space, the scent of werewolves was obvious. They’d been here, recently. The smell pervaded the whole area. Either there had been a lot of werewolves here, or they’d been here a lot. Or both. 

Scott knew that it was crazy to go in here alone. He couldn’t fight a whole pack of werewolves and it was quite likely a fight would be necessary if they’d hurt Stiles. The sensible thing to do would be to leave and tell the sheriff that he was certain Stiles’ kidnappers had been in this club, but how could he explain it in a way that the sheriff would believe? He had no evidence except his sense of smell, which would be tough to explain. Besides, the sheriff wasn’t going to be equipped to handle werewolves. 

Scott was still debating what was the best thing to do when a car pulled into the parking lot. Scott turned to face it. He’d been seen now, so running was out of the question. All he could do was stand there while the car parked and a man got out of it. He was a werewolf, Scott could tell at once from the scent, but the smell was subtly different from the other werewolves Scott had met. The man looked him up and down. 

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, “but you’re not what I was expecting.” 

“Where’s Stiles?” Scott asked. 

“Safe. For now.” 

“Why did you take him?” 

The man walked a little closer to Scott and then started circling round him. Scott turned to keep facing him. 

“I find it very impolite,” the man said, “that a werewolf would come into my territory or send his friends into the heart of my domain without talking to me.” 

“I didn’t send Stiles here. He goes where he likes.” 

“Then you might want to be a little more careful about where your friends like to go, and I think we need to have a discussion about disposition of territories.” 

“I want to know that Stiles is alright first,” Scott said. He didn’t have anything on his side. This other guy had all the advantages, but Scott needed to know about Stiles. 

The man pulled a phone out of his pocket. He called up a number and dialled. Scott listened carefully so he could hear what was said at the other end of the call. 

“Hello,” a voice said, grumpily. 

“Put your phone on speaker and get our guest to say something,” the guy in the parking lot said. “There’s someone here who wants to hear from him.” 

“Say something,” the grumpy voice said. There was a silence, then the grumpy voice continued, “You’ve not stopped talking since last night and now you decide to be quiet?” 

That sounded like Stiles. Scott could easily believe he would complain and snark for the duration of his captivity. 

“Stiles?” Scott asked. 

“Scott?” a very familiar voice asked, then quickly ploughed on. “Scott, get out of there. They’re dangerous. They’re not human.” 

The guy in the parking lot cut off the phone call before anything else could be said. Stiles was still alive. That was all Scott really knew for sure, but that was something he could hold on to. These other werewolves had no reason to hurt Stiles, in fact, they would lose their negation advantage if they hurt Stiles. Scott just had to cooperate enough to get them to let him go. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” the man said. He gestured towards the door into the club, a clear invitation. Scott didn’t even hesitate. He headed inside.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles had been terrified of what might happen if his dad came across a pack of werewolves. He hadn’t imagined what might happen if Scott stumbled into this, except in the crazy delusions when he wondered if Scott might have been the werewolf whose scent they had picked up. But he’d been the one on the end of the phone, the one with Peter right now. 

The remnants of the meal were forgotten now. All Stiles could think about was that Scott didn’t know what he was getting into. He couldn’t know how dangerous Peter was. 

“Please,” Stiles said to Derek, “you can’t let Peter hurt Scott.” 

Derek looked to Stiles, raising an eyebrow in question. He wasn’t arguing or anything, just waiting for Stiles to continue. 

“You can’t let Peter grab Scott or hurt him or anything. Please, he’s my best friend and he doesn’t deserve to be involved in any messed up werewolf territory battles.” 

“Is this Scott McCall you’re talking about?” Derek asked, after only a moment’s pause. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, suddenly doubtful, wondering how he knew that name. 

“You do realise he’s a werewolf,” Derek said. 

Stiles stared at him. It had to be a lie. Or a mistake. He couldn’t believe Scott could be a werewolf. He’d wondered, when he’d found out that the borrowed shirt smelled of a werewolf, but he’d never seriously considered it. 

“If Scott was a werewolf,” Stiles said, “I’d know.” 

“Peter bit him,” Derek said. “I tried to talk to him about joining the pack, but he wouldn’t listen, partly because Peter bit him without asking first and he was furious about it. By then, Peter had found Erica and Boyd and Isaac, and they did want to be part of the pack, so Peter just let Scott go. I think he figured Scott wouldn’t last long as an omega.” 

“Omegas are the ones without packs, right?” Stiles said, trying to remember what Derek had said before. 

“I guess Scott must have found another pack.” 

“If Scott was a werewolf, he’d have told me,” Stiles said. 

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.” 

“He’s my best friend. I’ve known him since I was five. There is no one who knows Scott as well as me, not even Scott.” 

Derek didn’t argue, but his face made it clear that he thought Stiles was wrong. Stiles glared at him. Derek appeared to ignore him. He just went back to the couch and the book he’d been trying to read. Stiles took petty pleasure in waiting until Derek had found his place and just started to read before he asked a question. 

“Does he do stuff like that a lot?” Stiles asked. “Biting people and turning them into werewolves, I mean.” 

Derek marked his place in the book with his finger and turned his attention back to Stiles. 

“Not often,” he said, “but he’d made it clear he thought Laura was being weak when she didn’t grow the pack. She said she was happy with the pack being just family: her, me, our little sister Cora, and Peter. Peter kept telling her we needed more, we needed a bigger pack to be powerful, but Laura never really cared about the power. When Laura died, the first thing Peter did was find someone to bite to turn into a new beta.” 

“And you’re saying that beta is Scott?” 

Derek nodded. “Scott wasn’t interested, so Peter changed tactics. He started finding kids who were desperate for somewhere to belong, for the strength and power that being a werewolf could give them. He gave it to them as a gift, to make them grateful, to make sure they were loyal to him. Now he’s got three new betas and there’s only me and Cora who give a damn that Peter murdered Laura.” 

“And you’re afraid to fight him.” 

“I’m not suicidal,” Derek said. “I can’t defeat Peter on his own; I wouldn’t stand a chance of fighting him and a pack. He’s stronger the more he has with him.” 

“You can’t get the pack to side with you?” 

“Maybe, but it’s difficult. If I start talking about wanting to take Peter’s place, he’ll hear and he won’t accept a direct challenge. I may be his nephew but he’ll kill me to make a point to the others if he thinks it’s necessary to keep his power.” 

“This is all very Game of Thrones,” Stiles commented. 

“Only without the dragons and ice zombies,” Derek commented. 

“We hope,” Stiles said, then blinked, his brain catching up with his ears. “You watch Game of Thrones?” 

“Read. I’ve read the first couple of books. I’ve still got the rest of the series somewhere, but I gave up when I realised there were only about two characters left alive that I still liked and their sections came about a hundred pages apart.” 

“I’m surprised you don’t like all the characters. Dark, brooding, secretive, prone to convoluted plots, and with a tendency towards violence at the slightest excuse.” 

“I draw the line at sleeping with my sisters,” Derek said. 

“Was that a joke? Was that actually an indication of humour below your dark and brooding exterior?” 

“Keep talking and you may get to experience my tendency towards violence again,” Derek said, but Stiles grinned. He’d actually managed to get Derek to drop his guard long enough to make a joke and he felt that was quite an achievement. 

Derek tried to go back to his book. Stiles wondered if he should request a book of his own to pass the time. He was getting extremely bored and he didn’t tend to do well with boredom. After a minute, Derek glared at Stiles over the top of his book. 

“If you don’t stop jiggling your foot,” Derek said, “I will cut it off.” 

“Huh?” Stiles looked down. He’d been tapping his foot absently and hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. 

“I fidget,” Stiles said, “especially when I’m nervous or bored, and you’re not helping with either state. You should try entertaining me.” 

“Do you find being hung from the ceiling by your ankles entertaining?” Derek asked. 

“I’m starting to think you’ve got a fetish for tying me up.” 

“For it to be a fetish, I’d have to find you attractive,” Derek said. Stiles wasn’t going to be offended by that. After all, a guy who looked like Derek would never look at him twice if it weren’t for the whole kidnapping thing. Besides, Stiles had spent years in love with Lydia without her noticing he existed, so he was used to insanely attractive people not being remotely attracted to him. He wasn’t surprised by Derek’s reaction, and he wasn’t going to let it faze him. He certainly wasn’t going to let Derek see that he was disappointed that Derek could be so blunt about it. 

He forced a joking grin onto his face and said, “Come on, you know I’m adorable.” 

“You’re a dork. I can understand why, with your inferior hearing, you might have misheard when people called you that.” 

“Did you just call me a dork, inferior and unattractive in one go? Kudos. I’m impressed with the efficiency of your insults.” Stiles kept the grin on his face. He wasn’t going to let Derek think he was getting to him. 

“I could add a few more insults, if you like,” Derek said. 

“Give it your best shot, direwolf. It won’t be anything I haven’t heard before.” 

“Direwolf?” Derek asked. 

“It seemed appropriate. You are the one who reads A Song of Ice and Fire.” 

“So are you,” Derek said. 

“How do you figure? I mean, you’re right, but I didn’t say I read the books.” 

“You used the name of the book series. People who’ve only watched the TV show tend to just use the name of the first book. You read the books.” Derek looked smug at his logic. 

“So what?” Stiles said. “I read fantasy books, I like superhero films. So do you. So if that makes me a dork, then that makes you a dork too, but you pretend you’re not with all your brooding and your leather. You try to hide your dorkiness because you think it’s something to be ashamed of, but that route only leads to self-doubt and misery. You should accept who you are, embrace it, not hide it away for the sake of conformity. You must be true to your inner nature.” 

Derek shot him a look both puzzled and amused, saying, “You sound like you’re trying to get me to come out of the closet.” 

“I am. The dork closet. You are a closet dork.” 

“Better than being an idiot.” 

“And now we’re back to insults,” Stiles said, “but you’re not going to get to me by questioning my intelligence, because I know how smart I am and I have the evidence to prove it. Unless you go back in time and erase my academic history, that insult isn’t going to fly.” 

Derek was giving him a puzzled look again. 

“You really get insulted a lot, don’t you?” Derek said. 

“I’m in high school,” Stiles said, “and I read fantasy books and like superhero movies, and I can’t get off the bench in lacrosse. What do you think?” 

“I think you wouldn’t have come up with a way to deflect insults like that and not let them get to you unless you’d heard far more untrue insults than a person deserves.” 

Stiles was tempted to laugh, “So you’re happy to kidnap me, threaten me, and chain me up, but I get sympathy because some idiots at school call me names? You need to sort out your priorities.” 

“I’m not happy about kidnapping you,” Derek said. 

“But I notice you’re not denying being happy about threatening me?” 

“Maybe you should talk less and I’d be less inclined to rip your tongue out of your mouth.” 

“I’m thinking I should make a catalogue of all my body parts that you’ve threatened,” Stiles said. “There’s my tongue, my legs, my throat…” 

“Shut up.” 

“If I wasn’t shutting up for the threats, do you really think I’ll shut up just because you tell me to?” 

“Shut up, Stiles. Someone’s here.” 

“What? Who?” 

“If you’d _shut up_ maybe I could listen and find out.” 

Stiles fell silent, watching while Derek just stood there, apparently listening with his supposedly superior werewolf hearing. After a moment, Derek seemed to relax a little. Stiles wasn’t sure if this was a good sign for him or not until the door opened and Peter herded Scott inside. 

The dread Stiles had been feeling since he’d heard Scott’s voice on the phone now rose in a fierce crescendo of terror. Peter was a murderer, a monster in every sense of the world. He could easily decide to kill Scott. Stiles wanted to yell at Scott to run, but he didn’t think Scott would be able to get even a few steps away before Peter caught him and ripped him to shreds. There wasn’t anything Stiles could do to help him. All Stiles could do was get to his feet and stand there, staring at Scott, while chained helplessly to the pillar. 

“Scott,” Derek said, giving him a nod. 

“Derek,” Scott replied. “I should have guessed you’d be involved in this.” 

They knew each other. Derek had said he knew Scott but Stiles hadn’t believed it until this moment. If Derek had been telling the truth about knowing Scott, then it was likely he’d been telling the truth about why. That would mean that Scott was a werewolf. Looking at Scott now, standing there beside Peter, Stiles felt like he suddenly didn’t know his best friend at all. 

Scott turned to Peter and said, “We made a deal. Let him go.” 

“You don’t give the orders, remember,” Peter said, “and there is one last matter to attend to. His promise.” 

Peter looked sternly at Scott, who swallowed nervously. Then Scott crossed the room to where Stiles stood. Stiles waited for some terrible test, some horrendous condition that Peter might have set. Scott stood in front of Stiles and met his gaze, looking sadder and more serious than Stiles thought he’d ever looked before. 

“I need you to make a promise,” Scott said. “You need to promise not to talk to anyone about what’s happened here. Not your dad, not anyone. You can’t tell anyone that these people are werewolves, or that they held you prisoner, or anything.” 

Stiles looked over at Peter. So he would be set free if he promised never to tell on the pack of werewolves living in Beacon Hills. It seemed too easy. Stiles wondered what else Scott had agreed to, but now wasn’t the time to ask him. Or to hit his friend upside the head for keeping secrets this massive. 

“Promise,” Peter told Stiles. “And we’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.” 

Scott wanted him to promise. And it wasn’t like Stiles would be able to convince his dad of the truth anyway. And this was Scott’s secret. If Stiles started talking about werewolves, Scott’s secret would be out there. Stiles didn’t want his friend to get hurt. 

“I promise I won’t tell anyone about werewolves or what happened to me here,” Stiles said. Peter nodded to Derek, who went to fetch the key to the chains. A minute later, Stiles’ hands were free. He rubbed at the bruised and scraped skin around his wrists. 

“Come on,” Scott said quietly. 

“Just remember,” Peter said to Scott, “that if either of you break this agreement, his life is forfeit. And if you break the agreement and try to hide him from me, I will kill two people you care about and two people he cares about.” 

“We won’t break the agreement,” Scott said. All Stiles could do was wonder what the agreement actually was. 

They started towards the door again. When they reached it, and Stiles had a look at the long staircase down, Derek called out, “Do you need a ride home?” 

Stiles hesitated, looking to Scott. Stiles had no idea where they were, but presumably Scott did. Scott looked considerably reluctant, but then he nodded. 

“That might be a good idea,” he said. 

Derek hurried over to join them and they started down the stairs. Stiles tried not to think about the way Peter had smirked at him as they left. 

No one said anything as they got down to the parking garage and Derek unlocked his shiny, black car. Scott nodded for Stiles to get in first, so Stiles scrambled over seats and got in the back, letting Scott take shotgun. Stiles wondered why Scott had insisted on this arrangement. Did he think he’d be able to put himself between Derek and Stiles if something went wrong? 

Stiles hadn’t been thinking that Derek might hurt him, especially now that freedom was within sight, but now he had to worry about the possibility again. Maybe Peter had only pretended to let them go to make them drop their guard so that Derek could kill them. 

But Derek only seemed concerned about driving. He pulled out of the parking garage and started down the road. After a minute, he had to ask for directions. 

“Towards the east side of town,” Scott said, not giving an exact street address. Derek started driving in brooding silence. The tension in the car was high. Scott watched Derek closely, as though expecting any move to turn out to be a threat. Derek just drove, glaring the road into submission. Outside, the buildings of Beacon Hills passed under the sunshine, as though nothing in the world was wrong. 

“Well, this is uncomfortable,” Stiles said, when he could bear the silence no more. 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growled. 

“I have to say,” Stiles continued, “as a personal chauffer, the car gets about a hundred points for sheer awesome, but the driver could do with some improvement.” 

“I could push you out into the middle of the road if it would help,” Derek said. 

“Your alpha’s promised your pack won’t hurt Stiles,” Scott said, shooting worried looks in Derek’s direction. 

“I’m sure he left a loophole in the agreement,” Derek said. “He’s good at that.” 

They lapsed back into uncomfortable silence. It was weird. Back in Derek’s apartment, they’d been able to talk. OK, so half of the conversation had been death threats and insults, but at least they’d been able to hold a conversation. Now that Scott was here, talking seemed impossible, except when Scott gave directions to Derek. 

“This is close enough,” Scott said at last. 

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked. They were still about five minutes’ walk from his house. 

Derek shot Scott a questioning look. He’d slowed down, but he hadn’t stopped. 

“The sheriff might have left a deputy watching the house,” Scott said. “The last thing we want is for him to start asking questions about why you’re dropping us off.” 

Derek nodded. He pulled the car over at the side of the road and waited for them to get out. As Stiles was climbing from the back of the car, it looked like Derek might be about to say something, but then he closed his mouth and looked away. 

“It was nice being threatened by you,” Stiles said. Derek gave a gruff nod, then pulled the car off, leaving Scott and Stiles standing by the side of the road. 

For a moment, they just stood there, then Scott put his arms around Stiles in a tight hug. Stiles returned the gesture. Then Scott pulled away and everything was awkward again. 

“We should,” Scott started. He gestured vaguely in the direction of Stiles’ house. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. They started walking. There followed what might have been the longest silence the two of them had ever had between them. It lasted almost a whole minute before Stiles couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“So,” Stiles said, “you’re a werewolf?” 

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Do you hate me?” 

“Yes. Absolutely. I may never forgive you. You are a freaking werewolf and you didn’t tell me! I was busy telling Derek that he must be mistaken and you couldn’t possibly be a werewolf because you’re my best friend and you tell me everything and that there’s no way in hell that you could be a werewolf without me knowing.” 

“So you’re not upset about me being a werewolf? Just that I didn’t tell you?” 

“Yes! Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me? We tell each other everything.” 

“I wasn’t sure how to tell you that I’d become a monster. I wasn’t sure you’d still want to be my friend if you knew.” 

There was only one possible response to that. Stiles reached out and whacked Scott upside the head. 

“Hey!” Scott complained. 

“You are my best friend,” Stiles said. “You could turn into a slimy oozing puss monster and you’d still be my best friend.” 

Stiles was angry at Scott right now, probably more than at any other time in his life, because it hurt that Scott hadn’t trusted him. Some seriously major, life-changing stuff had been going on with him and he hadn’t felt able to confide in Stiles. Stiles had always believed they could tell each other anything, but now it seemed like he was the only one who’d felt that. 

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. 

“Good.” 

“I haven’t told anyone. My mom doesn’t know. No one knows.” 

“What about your pack?” Stiles asked. Because that thought hurt too. Derek had said that Scott must have found a werewolf pack to take him in and that meant that Scott presumably had a whole bunch of new friends whose existence he was keeping secret from Stiles. 

“I don’t have a pack,” Scott said. 

“But Derek and Peter kept going on about an alpha scent, meaning the leader of a pack, so you’ve got to have an alpha for that scent to get on you enough to get on me and cause this whole mess.” 

“There’s no alpha. There’s no pack. There’s just me.” 

There was something achingly lonely in his tone. Stiles felt his anger slipping away bit by bit. Scott had been going through all this alone. Yes, it had been his fault he’d been alone and Stiles was still more than a little mad about that, but it still must have hurt him to have suffered through this by himself. 

“Maybe you smell like an alpha to them because you lead yourself,” Stiles said. “You don’t answer to anyone.” 

Scott shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works.” 

They walked a little further, turning onto the street on which Stiles’ house stood. 

“What did you agree with Peter?” Stiles asked. 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Obviously it does. If you cut a deal to get me out of there, I deserve to know what you agreed.” 

“Most of it’s irrelevant. Peter assumed I had a pack. He was talking like I had other werewolves answering to me and I didn’t bother to correct him. Basically, I agreed that Beacon Hills was primarily his territory and that my pack would be allowed here as long as we didn’t interfere with them. I can’t bite anyone and turn them into a werewolf without getting Peter to agree to it first, which doesn’t matter because I’m not planning on biting anyone. I can’t lead the authorities or hunters or anyone to their pack’s safe places. If the town is under attack from an outside threat and we have to fight, I’ve agreed that he’ll be in charge as a sort of senior alpha. Mostly it was just me agreeing not to challenge or fight his pack which I’m not stupid enough to do anyway because he has a whole pack of werewolves and I’m just me.” 

Stiles reached out, resting his hand on Scott’s shoulder for a moment. 

“It’s not just you anymore.” 

Scott gave him a very brief smile. 

Then they were at the house. There was no cop car parked out front, no sign of a waiting deputy. His dad must have them all out combing the town for him. Stiles was still trying to work out what he could possibly tell his dad without giving the game away, but he had to let his dad know he was OK. He must be scared half to death right now. 

Stiles let himself into the house with the spare key that they kept hidden in a planter around the side of the house, far enough away from the door that it shouldn’t be too obvious to potential thieves. Once inside, Stiles picked up the landline phone in the hall and pulled up his dad’s cell number from its phonebook. 

“Stiles?” his dad’s voice answered, frightened and hopeful at the same time. 

“Hey, dad,” Stiles said quietly. 

“You’re home? You’re safe?” 

“I’m fine. I’m… I’m fine.” It was possibly the least reassuring statement in the universe, but Stiles couldn’t think of anything better to say. He’d spent last night and this morning scared and uncomfortable and his entire worldview had been shaken at its foundations by the existence of supernatural creatures, one of whom was his best friend. It would take time before he could sound more confident about his state of being. 

“I’m on my way,” his dad said. “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t move.” 

“I’ll be here,” Stiles said. “I promise. I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

Stiles hung up the phone. Scott was watching him. 

“What are you going to tell him?” Scott asked. 

“I’m still figuring that out. In the meantime, I need a shower.” 

Stiles had showered at Derek’s place, but then he’d put on the same dirty clothes. He wanted to get properly clean, to wash away the stink of terror. He headed upstairs, shut himself in the bathroom and stepped under the hot spray. The water washed away the dirt and the familiar place, this safe space, washed away the fear. 

Scott was right, he needed to figure out something to tell his dad. His dad had probably had the entire police force looking for him. Stiles couldn’t pretend this was an accident or a mistake or that he’d just spent the night somewhere; that wouldn’t explain why he no longer had his phone or why he hadn’t come home in the morning. He could claim he didn’t remember, but then his dad would probably send him to the hospital to be tested for drugs and rape and anything else that might be involved in a teenager blanking out a night out. The truth was out of the question, not just because of the promise. Stiles wanted to be sure that his dad had no reason to go near Peter and his pack. He could make something up, but then his dad would either pick it apart or start chasing down an innocent party. It would be easier if he could just say he wasn’t going to say, but how would he get his dad to accept that? 

The water started to go cold, so Stiles stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his damp body. He started to rub himself dry when he heard the door downstairs. 

“Stiles?” his dad’s voice called out. 

“In the bathroom,” Stiles yelled back. “Give me a minute.” 

He dried himself off roughly and wrapped the towel around his waist. When he opened the door, his dad was waiting right outside. Stiles didn’t even manage to get a hello out of his mouth before he found himself wrapped in a fierce hug. Stiles leaned into his dad’s warmth, feeling the comfort and strength those arms surrounded him with. His body seemed to relax of its own accord, responding to the sensation of being cared for, of being protected. There was strength in the hug, but something gentle and soothing as well, the arms holding him close, guarding him against the evils of the world. 

“It’s OK,” Stiles said, when it became clear his dad wasn’t going to let him go any time soon. “I’m fine. I’m home. I’m safe.” 

“What happened?” his dad asked, finally letting him out of the hug. 

“Let me get some clothes on first,” Stiles said. 

“OK. I’ll be downstairs. Do you need anything? Food? A doctor.” 

His dad was taking in the sight of his bare torso. Stiles was acutely aware of the bruises on his shoulder and the cuts from Peter’s claws. 

“I’m fine, honestly,” Stiles said. He held up a hand in an instinctive gesture, intended to placate his dad. All it did was draw attention to his wrists, which were bruised and scraped from the chains. His dad caught his arm and lifted it up so he could get a good look at the damage. 

“What the hell was done to you?” he asked. 

“It’s just a few bruises,” Stiles said, tugging his arm out of his dad’s grip. “I’m fine. I need to get dressed.” 

His dad didn’t seem keen on moving, but Stiles edged past him and headed to his bedroom. He shut the door firmly behind him and then quickly got himself dressed. 

There were still clothes strewn all over the room from when he’d been getting ready last night. It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d been heading out for a night on the town. He grabbed clothes almost at random, but he pulled on an old hoodie over the top of everything. Its sleeves were long enough to hide the marks on his wrists and it was an old, comfortable top that felt like comfort when it was wrapped around him. 

He now had no excuse to linger. He had to go and face his dad. 

He headed downstairs, finding his dad in the kitchen preparing soup and sandwiches. Stiles had stuffed himself on Chinese earlier, so he really wasn’t hungry and he felt a little bad that his dad was making this fuss when he didn’t need it. Scott was still there as well, lingering at the edge of the room, trying not to intrude but not willing to leave. 

“Have something to eat,” Stiles’ dad said, “and then I’ll take you down to the station to make an official statement.” 

“I’m not going to make a statement,” Stiles said. 

“Of course you are.” 

“No, I’m not. They let me go when I promised not to tell anyone what happened.” 

“A promise made under duress isn’t a real promise,” his dad said. “You can’t be expected to hold to it. A crime has been committed and it must be reported.” 

“Dad, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone who took me and I will keep that promise. If you take me to the station to give a statement, I will spend the entire time quoting Monty Python’s Life of Brian. You know I can do it.” 

“But why won’t you give a statement?” 

“Because if I give a statement, you’ll try to arrest people and it won’t do any good because there’s no evidence, none whatsoever, except whatever statement I give, and all they have to do is say that I’m lying and bye-bye beyond reasonable doubt. There’s no way you could legally make anything stick.” 

“So you’ll just let them get away with it?” 

Stiles had spent his shower working out what to say. Now he had to see if he could paint a picture in his dad’s head without giving him any evidence to work with. 

“It was meant as a prank,” Stiles said, “it just went a bit far. Then when they realised it was being treated as kidnap, they panicked. They were scared and they didn’t want to just let me go because they didn’t want to get in trouble but they didn’t know what else to do. Now I know something that they don’t want other people to know. If I tell you, then everyone in school will know that I’m the guy that went running to my dad and got…” he hesitated deliberately, “people into trouble. Being a snitch is still considered a mortal sin in high school and my life will be hell. But if I don’t say anything, then I have knowledge and you know what they say about knowledge and power. They won’t do anything to me because I could still go to the sheriff and tell him that they committed a felony. I get left alone.” 

“So you’d rather let these punks off the hook because you think they’ll leave you alone?” 

“Dad, I know what I’m doing. Trying to arrest them won’t do any good, but hanging the threat of arrest over their heads will.” 

“Stiles, will you at least tell me off the record who did this?” 

“No.” 

Stiles knew that his dad would assume it was a bunch of guys from school but short of questioning the entire lacrosse team, he couldn’t do anything about those suspicions. Stiles could make it out like there wasn’t any real threat. After all, as bad as his wrists looked, he wasn’t really injured. A bunch of jerks from school being idiots was a lot less of a danger than a pack of violent werewolves. He hoped his dad would put it down to boys being boys and just let this go. 

Instead, his dad finally seemed to notice that Scott had been watching this whole exchange. 

“Do you know who did this?” 

Scott looked at the floor and said, “No?” 

“Scott…” 

“I’m not saying anything Stiles isn’t.” 

“Maybe you should tell me and let me decide what to do,” Stiles’ dad said. “You can’t just decide whether to follow through when someone breaks the law.” 

“Says the sheriff who looks the other way when he knows his underage son is sneaking into clubs,” Stiles said. 

“Well that’s not happening anymore,” his dad said. “No more clubs. No sneaking drinks from my whiskey. And I’m seriously tempted to get Dr Deaton to stick one of those pet tracking chips in you.” 

“Those actually only work short range,” Scott said. “They’re used to identify stray pets, not track them down across distances.” 

Stiles’ dad glared at him, then he turned that glare at Stiles. It wasn’t particularly impressive. Having spent the last day and night being glared at by Derek, Stiles wasn’t going to buckle to his dad. Stiles met the glare with a calm gaze. 

“If you’re not going to tell me who the perpetrators are,” Stiles’ dad said, “I have no choice but to assume there is still a threat. Therefore, to make sure you’re safe, I expect you home straight after school and at weekends. If you want to go out anywhere, even to Scott’s house, you have to clear it with me in advance and I expect to know exactly where you are and I want regular check-ins so that I know you’re safe.” 

“Are you grounding me,” Stiles asked, “for being kidnapped?” 

“It’s not grounding. And it’s for not telling me the truth about what happened.” 

Stiles supposed that after everything, he should think himself lucky he was getting off so lightly. He dad was probably furious with him right now for hiding secrets this big, as well as being scared on his behalf. Given how mad Stiles was at Scott, he couldn’t blame his dad for that. 

“Dad, I promise, this is for the best. I know what I’m doing.” 

“I just always thought you could trust me,” his dad said, the ultimate guilt-trip. 

“I do.” 

“Then why won’t you tell me who hurt you?” His dad looked more sad than angry, which was painful to see. Stiles could handle his dad being angry but it hurt to see him looking like this. Stiles felt like the worst son in the world for sitting here lying to his dad’s face after his dad had been so recently afraid for his life. 

“Because I can’t, Dad. Please stop asking me. Now, I just really want to get some sleep. I didn’t get any sleep last night.” 

His dad hesitated a minute, clearly not wanting to drop the subject but wanting to make sure Stiles was happy. 

“Alright,” he said, “I guess I could do with some sleep myself, but this conversation isn’t over.” 

Stiles nodded. He also nodded a goodbye to Scott and then headed upstairs, stripping down to a t-shirt and boxers and then collapsing on his bed for some much-needed sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles set an alarm so he woke up after a couple of hours’ sleep, because otherwise he would completely screw up his sleep cycle. His brain was basically still in bed as he moved about the house, avoiding anything that would require concentration or thought. He grabbed a quick dinner and watched some mindless TV, and then settled in for an early night. He woke up on Sunday feeling essentially back to normal. 

His wrists looked scraped and raw and were still painful to the touch, and the bruises on his shoulder had turned interesting shades of purple, mingling with green and blue and the edges. Once he had a long-sleeved top on though, no one would be able to tell what he’d been through. He went downstairs, wondering at what time he could reasonably text Scott and ask him to come over. Did werewolves stay up all night howling at the moon and therefore need lie-ins on a Sunday? 

Stiles’ thoughts were interrupted by the sight of something white lying on the doormat. It was an envelope, despite it being a Sunday. Stiles picked it up. There was no address written on the envelope and no stamp, just his name written in small, neat writing on the front. 

Stiles wondered what it was. Threats from the werewolves to remind him to keep his mouth shut? Stiles tore the envelope open and pulled out a card with a picture of Superman on the front. Bewildered even further by this development, Stiles opened up the card. The manufacturer had printed ‘You’re Super!!!’ in the middle of the card and then the same neat handwriting as the envelope had added, ‘Anyone who says otherwise is lying or stupid.’ 

It was unexpected, confusing, and more than a little sweet. Stiles gave a small smile, checking the card for any sign of the sender’s name. Why would someone send him a card like this? Maybe someone on the lacrosse team was setting him up for a prank. They might be trying to make him think he had a secret admirer only to mock him later. Or maybe someone had heard he’d been kidnapped and realised they liked him, or possibly just felt pity for him. 

Stiles was inclined to be suspicious about random, anonymous compliments, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy them. He smiled at the card and decided to just take it as genuine until he got further information. 

Stiles went into the kitchen and found his dad already sitting down to breakfast. His eyes fell on the card in Stiles’ hands. 

“What have you got there?”

“Maybe a secret admirer.” He handed the card over for his dad to look at. “I don’t suppose you saw anyone drop it off?” 

“No.” His dad turned the card over several times, as though looking for a trap. Stiles tried not to laugh because he’d just done the same thing. After a moment, his dad handed the card back and said, “Good for you.” 

Stiles texted Scott after breakfast and it didn’t take long for Scott to show up. They went upstairs so that they could talk without Stiles’ dad overhearing. Once they were up in his room, Scott looked suspiciously at the card that Stiles had set on his desk. 

“Where did that come from?” Scott asked. 

“No idea,” Stiles said and explained how he’d found it. Scott was still looking at the card like he expected it to explode. Stiles almost found it offensive that both his dad and Scott seemed to find the idea of a card complementing him to be such a suspicious thing. OK, so he thought that too, but he was allowed to think that about himself. 

Stiles fired up a game, a simple shoot-em-up that would let him blow up Scott’s head repeatedly. In between blasting each other to pieces, Stiles asked Scott about werewolves. Scott filled him in with what he knew, which was remarkably little. Apparently he started to change if he got angry, he’d changed on the first couple of full moons but he could control himself and keep himself from changing now. He said that he didn’t seem to react to silver, but there were some purple flowers that made him feel ill. 

“Must be wolfsbane,” Stiles said. 

“What?” 

“Seriously? You really don’t know anything about werewolves, do you? How the hell did you survive this without me?” 

“There’s more,” Scott said. “There are people who try to kill werewolves.” 

Scott told him about how on the full moon, when he transformed for the first time, he’d been shot at by a bunch of men with guns and crossbows. Derek had apparently called them hunters and, since then, Scott had made it a point to stay away from them as much as possible. 

“Mostly,” Scott said, not looking at Stiles. 

“What do you mean ‘mostly’?” 

Scott mumbled something. Stiles kicked him on the ankle and asked him to repeat it. 

“Allison’s dad is one of them,” Scott said. 

“What?!” Stiles demanded. He turned to stare at Scott. One the screen, his avatar exploded from a grenade impact, but Stiles continued to stare at Scott. 

“He doesn’t know what I am,” Scott said. 

“Does Allison?” 

“No. I told you, no one knows.” 

“And you think the best way to keep it a secret is to date the daughter of a man who wants to kill you? Are you out of your frigging mind?!” 

“It’s not like I’m dating her dad,” Scott said. Stiles paused the game so he could reach over and hit Scott round the head again. 

“Hey!” Scott protested. 

“How is it that you’re not dead?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” 

“You know nothing about what you are or what you can now do. You don’t know about wolfsbane which, according to every werewolf movie ever, could kill you, and you’re dating the daughter or a guy who hunts down people like you. And you didn’t think to ask me for my help!”

Scott seemed to slump down a little, “I didn’t want anyone to know. I was afraid I might hurt someone. Or that you’d hate me for being a monster.” 

Stiles resisted the urge to hit Scott round the head again. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Stiles said. “We’re going to finish this game and I’m going to wipe the floor with you. Then we’re going to hit the internet and find out everything we can about werewolves. Because you’re not alone anymore and we’re going to figure this stuff out together. Got it?” 

Scott grinned, “Got it.” 

***

Scott probably should have gone straight home but he kept thinking about that card Stiles had said he’d found. It had smelt of a werewolf. Scott wondered if he should have told Stiles that, given how annoyed Stiles was about the fact he’d been keeping all this a secret, but he just wanted to figure out what it meant. He didn’t want to play into Peter’s hands by making Stiles worry. 

Scott took his bike across town trying to remember the route Derek had taken the day before. He ended up taking a few wrong turns near the end and he had to drive around a bit until he spotted the building. Unfortunately, that drive gave him time to wonder if this was a good idea. It probably wasn’t, but Stiles had been hurt enough already. Scott parked the bike and headed into the building. 

Derek must have heard him arrive, because he was waiting in the doorway to the loft apartment when Scott got to the top of the stairs. Scott listened, but he couldn’t hear any sign of anyone else in the building. 

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Derek asked. 

“I really don’t,” Scott said, “but I want an explanation of the card.” Scott wasn’t certain that Derek was the one who’d left it. Not until Derek looked away. 

“While he was here,” Derek said, “we talked. _He_ talked. A lot. I got the feeling he’s used to being insulted and pushed around by people at school. After everything, I thought he deserved something to make him feel good about himself.” 

“You sent him a secret admirer card because you felt bad about kidnapping him?” 

“It’s not a secret admirer card,” Derek said, but there was something about the way he said it that seemed a little off. Scott wished he had the ability to sense lies that Peter apparently had because he really wanted to know if Derek had been telling the truth then. 

“Does Peter know you sent it?” Scott asked. 

“No.” 

“Does Stiles know it’s from you?” 

“No. I figured he’d just think it was a trick if I put my name on it.” 

“He probably thinks it’s a trick anyway. He doesn’t usually get anonymous messages saying that he’s great. He usually gets anonymous notes in his locker calling him a freak.” 

Derek didn’t say anything but his brow furrowed, eyebrows falling into a deep frown. 

“You’re supposed to be leaving Stiles alone,” Scott said. “That was the deal I made with Peter.” 

“Peter’s deal was that we won’t hurt or threaten him so long as you uphold your end of the bargain,” Derek said. “Giving the guy a boost of self-esteem isn’t a threat.” 

“But if you freak him out, or scare him, or stalk him, or lead him on and break his heart, I’ll consider that a breach and then I really won’t be happy.” 

Scott let his eyes shift, showing their red glare. He didn’t know why his eyes had changed from yellow to red after he’d become a werewolf, but it seemed to have the right effect on Derek. He didn’t say anything, but he gave a short nod, accepting Scott’s statement. 

“Stay away from Stiles,” Scott said. He turned and walked out. He walked calmly down the stairs, got outside, got on his bike, rode away, and waited until he was two blocks away before he started freaking out about the fact that he’d just ordered Derek around. 

Derek was bigger and tougher than he was, and he knew a hell of a lot more about being a werewolf. He’d been the one who’d pushed Scott around when he’d first been bitten, claiming he needed a pack and making threats about all the dangers of being a lone wolf. And now Scott had just warned him off his friend. The thing that was really freaking Scott out was that Derek had seemed to listen. 

Either Derek was under some delusion that Scott was more powerful or had a dangerous pack, or he was just nodding to get him out of there. It was possible that Derek had agreed but had no intention of leaving Stiles alone. 

Scott had struggled with the fact that the pack had gone after Stiles when it had all been a misunderstanding. There was no misunderstanding now. If Derek went after Stiles, it was deliberate. That thought terrified Scott because he knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of protecting his best friend. 

***

Monday at school was a nightmare. Rumours were already flying about what had happened to Stiles over the weekend. Enough people had heard about the manhunt his dad had called, but no one knew the details. Stiles found himself surrounded by whispers. As the day progressed, he heard all sorts of strange versions and was asked questions about many more. Jackson flat out asked him if it was true that he’d been gang raped behind a club. When Stiles denied it, Jackson said, “I didn’t think it could be true. Why would anyone want to have sex with you?” 

Roofied and raped seemed to be the most common rumour, though a few people asked if he’d been kidnapped by criminals who were trying to get leverage on the sheriff. Some people were convinced that Stiles had been doing drugs and had just passed out. 

As the day wore on, Stiles wished he could be invisible. He’d always hated the fact that most people at the school didn’t know who he was, but now he longed to go back to that. Anything would be better than whispers and stories and all the nonsense that floated around him. Most of it wasn’t particularly malicious, it was just stupid, and Stiles couldn’t set the record straight. 

Even Harris decided to get in on it, declaring that being kidnapped didn’t count as an excuse to hand in subpar homework. Stiles had done his homework and handed it in, looking directly at Harris as he did so. He wasn’t going to be cowed by a petty teacher. 

At the end of the day, Stiles was glad to go home. He was trying to follow his dad’s rules about being home straight away. He still felt guilty about lying to his dad, so easing his mind by being where he was supposed to be was a small price to pay. Besides, he really didn’t want to hang out with anyone from school right now. 

He drove home without incident and then spotted something on the doorstep. Stiles was cautious. The son of the sheriff didn’t go around picking up mysterious packages without due care. It was a paper bag, wrapped around a small, rectangular object, about the size of a book. It didn’t look like bomb, but then he supposed a bomb wouldn’t. It could still be filled with something nasty though. 

He picked up a stick and held it by the very end. He stood as far away as possible from the package and prodded it with the stick. Nothing happened. 

He prodded it a little harder. The package slid a couple of millimetres across the doorstep. Stiles gave a couple more good jabs and decided that the thing wasn’t about to explode. He got a little closer. Using the stick, just in case the inside was coated in anything unpleasant, he eased the folded down top of the paper bag out from under the package. It took a little time, but he got it free and then used the stick to hold it open so he could see what was inside. 

It was a book. A perfectly ordinary paperback. 

Stiles set the stick aside and finally picked up the package, taking the book out of the bag. It was an old Terry Pratchett book, much worn and clearly read often, going by the creasing in the spine and the way the pages seemed to bend slightly open, like they were asking to be opened up and read. 

There was no note with it, no card, nothing. The only thing, Stiles now saw, was that someone had written his name on the paper bag. No indication of who had given it, but it was clear this had been left here as a present for Stiles. From the same person who sent the card? Stiles wondered if he really did have a secret admirer. 

He took the book inside and started reading, telling himself that solving the mystery of the gift was more important than mere homework. Not that reading the book was telling him anything, except that the previous owner didn’t dog-ear pages or underline or scrawl phone numbers in the margin. Although the book showed the usual wear of having been handled often, it was in otherwise excellent shape. 

He wasn’t sure who could have sent it. Someone from school? But Stiles hadn’t lingered at school. Whoever had given this wouldn’t have had very long to get here and drop it off without Stiles seeing it. Unless they’d had a free period last thing or skipped a class and left the school to deliver the book. That didn’t seem likely. So who else? 

There were few people outside of school he hung out with and he couldn’t imagine any of them doing this. There was one person Stiles could think of who he knew read fantasy novels and watched Superman, but Derek had hated him. He had snarled and threatened and made it clear that he’d be glad to see the back of Stiles. Stiles wasn’t going to delude himself by imagining that Derek would be leaving his presents; that would only lead to disappointment. 

***

There was another little token left on Tuesday. There was an envelope stuffed with a few sheets of paper printed out with images. Someone had clearly trawled the internet for inspirational memes. There were parodies of inspirational posters, but with images taken from TV shows and films, including one of River Tam with the caption, ‘No Power in the Verse Can Stop Me.’ There were a couple of lolcats with cheery captions. There were screencaps from movies, most of which Stiles recognised. All in all, there were about ten pages of images, all around a theme of feeling good. 

He kept thinking of his dad’s saying about patterns. Two times might be a coincidence but three times was a definite pattern. The theme of the images matched with the card he’d got on Sunday. Someone was trying to make him feel good. 

A part of Stiles was still suspicious, waiting for someone to start laughing at him. Someone could be trying to build him up, to make him feel liked, just so that they could shatter his hopes later. 

But maybe, just maybe, someone actually liked him. 

***

He spent the drive home from school on Wednesday telling himself not to expect anything. Just because there had been something on the previous days, didn’t mean there would be anything today. The mysterious gift-giver might have got bored. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. He spent so long convincing himself that there would be nothing there that he was actually surprised when he got out of the jeep and spotted another envelope on the doorstep. 

He tore it open, pulling out the contents eagerly. There was a single sheet of paper with an image that looked like a screenshot from an anime. Below it, typed out neatly, was text reading, ‘When you feel alone, remember that the rice ball can be invited to join the fruits basket.’ The picture showed a little girl, sitting on a chair on her own. 

Stiles stared at the paper, trying to figure it out. Then he had to admit defeat. He went to his computer and hit the internet search engines to figure out what the message was supposed to mean. 

When his dad got back from work, Stiles was still working his way through a pile of illegally downloaded episodes, waiting for the one that would make sense of the message. One thing was clear though: his mystery stalker had great taste in anime. 

***

Scott was angry when Stiles told him about the continuing mysterious gifts, but Stiles wasn’t sure why. They were fun, even if he was spending the day yawning because he’d stayed up late watching Fruits Basket. The messages were sweet. Stiles could understand his reaction if they were nude pictures or creepy messages, but they were just someone being nice. 

Still, Stiles decided he’d had enough of secrecy. He wanted to know who the gift-giver was. Partly it was that he wanted to think them, but partly it was just that he didn’t like not knowing things. 

Thursday’s gift was another book, brand new this time, on world mythology. Stiles gave it a quick flick through, seeing a chapter that compared stories of fairies from around the world, and another on creation myths. The chapter that really drew his attention though was the one on shapeshifters, which delved into myths of werewolves and skinwalkers and other such creatures, comparing early tales and looking for similarities. 

The nature of the gift made Stiles wonder about Derek again. It could be a coincidence that the present mentioned werewolves. After all, the other gifts had been weird and random in their focus. And it wasn’t like it was a book on just werewolves. The mysterious gift giver might have just thought it was something Stiles would like, like with the novel. But still Stiles couldn’t shake the suspicion. He needed to know who it was. 

***

On Friday morning, Stiles woke up early. He took his laptop and a webcam, moving them to one of the front windows of the house. He duct taped the webcam to the window frame, pointing down at the path to the front door, and then fed the wire inside and hooked it up to the laptop. He could get the window almost closed, close enough that it wouldn’t be obvious from outside that there was anything different. He checked everything was working and that the camera was pointing in the right direction. Then he started his computer recording. 

“What are you doing?” his dad asked from behind him. 

“Make-shift security system,” Stiles replied. 

“Security system?” 

“I want to know who’s been leaving me cards and presents and stuff.” 

His dad nodded, with what might have been approval on his face. 

Stiles had to go to school then, and he spent the day fidgeting and distracted. Three different teachers called him out for not paying attention and he ended up in detention for staring into space during Harris’ class. He just kept wondering what was happening at home. Had the gift-giver shown up yet? Had the camera caught anything? What if the camera fell down or the computer crashed and he missed his chance? What if the gift-giver didn’t show up? What if he or she did show up and spotted the camera? 

Stiles wanted to be home. He wanted to check. Detention was unbearable. He stared at the clock, watching seconds tick by, convinced that the clock must be broken because it was going so slowly. He tried to get started on his homework, but he couldn’t concentrate. He should be home by now. He should be checking the camera footage. 

Time crept by and finally he was able to make his escape. He got into the jeep and headed home. It took enormous effort not to speed. He wanted to just race home, but he knew he had to be careful. His dad was mad enough right now without adding speeding tickets to the mix. 

Finally, he reached the house, breathing out a sigh when he saw another envelope. So mystery gift-giver had been here. He looked up, seeing the dark shape of the camera still taped to the window frame. He grabbed the envelope and tore it open as he hurried upstairs, eager to get to the computer. 

Today’s gift was a CD. Someone had written ‘feel good music’ on it. Stiles slid it into the disk drive on his computer, starting it playing while he stopped the camera recording. 

A voice burst out of his computer’s speakers, singing rapidly, “I feel fantastic! And I never felt as good as how I do right now.” 

Stiles chuckled a little at the music, pulling up the video file and skimming through the footage. Empty path. Empty path. Postman. Empty path. Empty path. Then there was something. Stiles stopped his rapid viewing and slowed the footage down to normal speed. The picture quality was dreadful, but there could be no denying the identity of the person who walked up the path and deposited an envelope. After all, it was hard to forget what someone looked like after spending a night and most of a day chained up in his apartment. 

Derek was the one leaving him gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure where the idea came from, but I fell in love with the idea that Derek was really into geeky things, but never talked about it because he didn't want to be seen as weird or different (because he's different enough already). So he's never had anyone to share these things with... until now. 
> 
> Fruits Basket is a fantastic anime and there's an anecdote at one point where the main character was teased as a child by being given the role of a rice ball in a game that was supposed to be about fruit. 
> 
> The song lyrics are taken from the chorus of I Feel Fantastic by Jonathan Coulton.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles waited until Saturday to go hunting for Derek. He got himself breakfast and then told his dad he was heading out. 

“Out where?” his dad asked, instantly suspicious. 

“Just out.” 

“I have to give prior approval,” his dad said. “Remember? Where are you going?” 

“I’ve found out who’s been leaving me presents,” Stiles said, “and I’m going to go ask him what he meant by them. You know, whether he wants to be friends, whether he likes me. You know.” 

“Who’s been leaving them?” his dad asked. 

“Erm… a guy I know.” 

“A guy?” 

“Maybe that’s why he was so mysterious about it. Maybe he’s not out of the closet. Maybe he doesn’t know if I like guys and he’s worried I’ll take it the wrong way. Maybe I’m misinterpreting things and he’s got a whole different reason for leaving me things. I just need to talk to him.” 

“And you’re not going to tell me who it is?” 

“No. Because I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not going to start saying that someone might be gay or might be interested in me unless I know for sure. I don’t start rumours.” 

“Telling me isn’t starting rumours,” his dad said. “And if this guy has been leaving you anonymous messages, there may be something unsavoury going on. I want to know.” 

Stiles could understand his dad’s concern but there wasn’t much he could do to alleviate it. Telling his dad that he was going to see one of his kidnappers would make things a million times worse. He could have said he was going to Scott’s, but he’d lied enough recently. Besides, there might actually be something to worry about. It was possible Derek had left those gifts expecting to be identified. He might have let himself be caught on camera expecting just this response. Stiles could be walking into a trap. 

“I’ll have my phone on me,” Stiles said. “Call me and check in if you need to.” 

Then he headed out to the jeep before his dad could argue anymore. He’d found an old phone handset and was using that until he could afford to get a new one. Maybe he could ask Derek though about getting his phone back. 

It took him a while to find his way back to Derek’s place. He’d seen it mostly from this inside, and he hadn’t been paying enough attention on the drive home afterwards. Now it took him a bit of meandering around town until he spotted what he thought was the right building. He parked his jeep and headed inside, recognising the long staircase. He started up it. 

He stopped a couple of times to catch his breath, but finally reached the top. Derek must have heard his laboured climb, because he was there waiting for him. 

“Hi,” Stiles said. Derek glowered at him. 

“Oh,” Stiles continued, “so you can say nice things to me in cards and internet memes but you can’t say nice things to my face.” 

“Scott told you it was me,” Derek said. He turned away, walking into the apartment. He left the door open though. Stiles took that as an invitation to follow. 

“Scott knew?” Stiles asked. Derek turned back then, looking at him sharply. Stiles ploughed on, remembering Scott’s reaction to the mysterious gifts. “Of course Scott knew. No wonder he was so mad that the presents and stuff kept coming.” He and Scott were going to have another long talk about keeping secrets. 

“How did you figure it out then?” Derek asked. 

“I’m a master detective,” Stiles said. “Plus, I rigged up a camera. I needed to figure out who was behind it.” 

“Well now you know.” 

“What I don’t know though is why,” Stiles said. 

Derek turned away again. He walked across the empty floor to stare out of the big windows. 

“If it freaks you out,” Derek said, “I’ll stop.” 

“I didn’t say to stop,” Stiles replied. “I just want to know why. Why have you been leaving me pictures and books and stuff?” 

Derek still wasn’t turning around. He still wasn’t looking at him. 

“When you were here,” he said, “you talked about getting insulted at school. You seemed to just accept it. I wanted to give you something nice. To make up for last week.” 

“You felt sorry for me,” Stiles said. It made sense. Pity gifts were a lot more understandable than secret admirer gifts. After all, Derek had made it clear that he didn’t find Stiles attractive. Stiles shouldn’t find that disappointing. He really shouldn’t. 

“You didn’t deserve what happened to you last week,” Derek said. 

“So you figured you’d feel less guilty about kidnapping me if you gave me a couple of books?” The words sounded angry as they left Stiles’ mouth. Stiles hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t realised how much he’d let himself hope that maybe this meant Derek liked him, maybe it meant that tall, hot and leather might actually be interested in him. The cold hard truth that he didn’t was more painful than Stiles wanted to admit, so he let himself feel angry. Angry at himself that he’d let himself be fooled. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I didn’t want to upset you. That’s why I didn’t tell you it was me.” 

“So you let me think I had a secret admirer instead? Real nice. Well now you can have a good laugh about poor, gullible Stiles who actually thought someone liked him enough to give him presents. Goodbye, Derek.” 

He started for the door. 

“Stiles,” Derek called from behind him. Stiles stopped in the doorway but he didn’t turn back. He didn’t look at Derek. He felt like he was going to cry and he really didn’t want that. He didn’t want Derek to see him like that because then Derek would think he’d got to him and he hadn’t. This was just because he was worn out from a long and stressful week. It had nothing to do with Derek not being interested in him. 

“Stiles,” Derek continued, “I’ve already got you something that I was going to leave today. You might as well have it anyway.” 

“Keep it,” Stiles said. 

He stalked down the stairs and out to his jeep. He got into the driver’s seat and then just slumped behind the wheel for a minute. 

He was used to insults. He knew how to cope with those. So how come someone trying to be nice could make him fall apart so completely? He shouldn’t really be mad at Derek. He’d just been trying to cheer him up. He was a little mad at Scott for knowing it was Derek and not telling him. He was mad at the guys at school for all the questions and insults of the past week, making him want so much for such fragile niceness as these presents had promised. He was mad at himself for letting himself believe that someone might be interested in him. 

His phone rang, jerking him out of his thoughts. His dad, naturally. 

“Hey, Dad.” 

“Hey, kiddo. Just checking in. Everything OK?” 

“I hate people.” 

There was a pause, then his dad asked gently, “Any particular people?” 

“Just in general.” 

There was another pause and then, “You coming home? We can get lunch at the place with the curly fries.” 

“You’re not supposed to have fries,” Stiles said automatically, “especially not the curly ones.” 

“Well you’re allowed fries. And if I have to test them to ensure they’re of suitable quality, then so be it.” 

Stiles gave a little smile and agreed. He could have lunch with his dad. Sacrificing a few of his curly fries was a small price for rebuilding the trust that had been broken. 

***

A little while later, they sat together in the diner. Stiles had won the argument about his dad’s burger, telling the waitress to bring the veggie rather than the beef, but he suspected he was about to lose half his fries. 

“So,” his dad said, once food had been ordered and the drinks delivered, “your mysterious gift giver?” 

“He’d realised that some of the guys at school were jerks to me and decided to do something nice to make me feel better.” 

“That seems… nice. Hardly a reason to declare a hatred of all humanity.” 

“I thought he might like me but he just felt sorry for me.” 

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” his dad said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said. 

“Well, it seems to me that giving someone gifts to cheer them up is a decent thing to do. Even if the guy isn’t interested in you, he clearly knows enough about your tastes to give you interesting gifts. You might have a few of those tastes in common. Maybe it’s worth talking to him as a friend.” 

Stiles knew they did have some tastes in common. They’d read some of the same books and Stiles was enjoying the anime Derek had referenced in one of the notes. Stiles thought back to the apartment, to the chess games and the teasing. He might actually be able to enjoy hanging out with Derek, but Derek had made it clear he didn’t want Stiles around. Whatever guilt or sympathy he might have felt, Stiles was pretty sure that friendship was far from Derek’s mind. 

***

Stiles got his homework done with so he could spend Sunday hanging out with Scott. Stiles didn’t wait long before saying he knew who the gift-giver was, and that he knew that Scott had known all along. 

“I didn’t want you to get worried,” Scott said. “I thought you might get scared if you knew who it was and, besides, I told Derek to leave you alone so I thought he’d stop.” 

“Well, he seems to have stopped now,” Stiles said. He hadn’t had any new presents. He was actually a little disappointed, even though he knew the source now. He kept thinking back to Derek’s parting words, wondering what the other gift would have been. He’d listened to the CD all through several times now. It was a strange collection, a mixture of silly, comedy songs, upbeat rock anthems designed to be sung along to, and a few cheery numbers from musicals. It was hard to feel sad about anything while listening to it. He was itching with curiosity to know what else Derek might have given him. 

“It’s for the best,” Scott said. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He didn’t need to get strange gifts from dangerous people who’d already kidnapped him once. Better that he cut all contact with Derek once and for all. No more gifts. Nothing. 

Stiles settled down to play computer games with Scott and then they went outside for a bit to toss a lacrosse ball about. It was all perfectly normal, like they were back to where they’d been before all this madness had started. It was hard to believe that it was barely more than a week ago Stiles had stumbled into the world of supernatural creatures. It felt like a lifetime ago, but now, standing in the sunshine with his best friend, all that madness seemed more like a distant dream. 

When they gave up on lacrosse and got changed into clean clothes, Scott was careful to keep his discarded clothes separate from Stiles’. They weren’t going to have any more mix-ups with scents. It was Stiles who suggested a movie and Scott went to check out the selection. They’d watched most of the DVDs at least once together, apart from a few boring ones belonging to his dad, but they could still enjoy watching an old favourite. 

“How about Superman?” Scott asked. 

Stiles froze. He’d been doing so well with not thinking about Derek, but suddenly the memories came back. He thought about that night at Derek’s place, joking about needing dinner and a movie to get his shirt off. He might have believe then that Derek could be interested in him. 

“I’m seen it recently,” Stiles said, when he realised Scott was still staring at him. 

“When?” Scott asked. Suspicion laced his voice. 

Stiles hesitated, then said quietly, “At Derek’s.” 

“You watched Superman with Derek?” 

“We watched Superman. We played chess. He made me pop tarts. We talked about Game of Thrones.” 

Scott was still staring at him. 

“All that time you were missing,” Scott said, “I was worried you were being tortured or something, but you were basically having a _date_.” 

“It wasn’t like that. I was just bored and you know how I ramble when I get bored. I think Derek wanted me to shut up. He kept threatening to duct tape my mouth shut.” 

Scott was still staring. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Stiles said. 

“Stiles, what do you think of Derek?” 

“I think he’s scary and prone to violence with a serious sense-of-humour impairment.” 

Scott nodded, looking slightly more relaxed, but only slightly. 

“Good,” he said. “Keep thinking that.” 

“Why? What do you think of Derek?” 

“I think you’re better off staying away from him.”


	9. Chapter 9

Scott didn’t know what to make of the situation with Derek and Stiles. He’d been confused and worried by the presents, thinking that they might be part of some trick. Peter and Derek had tried to recruit him when he’d first been bitten and he’d worried that they might be trying to do the same with Stiles, or they might be trying to get close to Stiles to get information about Scott and his supposed pack. 

But the more Scott thought about the gifts, and the conversation he’d had with Derek in his apartment, the less likely that seemed. It seemed that Derek and Stiles might have actually spent time bonding when Stiles had been a prisoner. Scott was beginning to think that there might be more to the fact that Derek had wanted to do something nice for Stiles. Scott decided he needed to find out. 

He had lacrosse practice after school on Monday but straight after that he headed back to Derek’s place. It was strange that, after so long of trying to avoid Derek and what he represented, Scott would end up going there three times in a couple of weeks. Still, he needed to talk to Derek and he didn’t have any way of communicating with him without going there personally. 

When Scott walked inside, he heard voices drifting down from the top apartment. They didn’t seem to have noticed him, so he tried to be as quiet as possible on the stairs, listening in on the conversation. One voice was Derek’s, but the other was a female voice that Scott didn’t recognise. 

“… but Peter thinks…” the female voice was saying. 

“I don’t care what Peter thinks,” Derek cut her off. 

“Even when he agrees with you?” 

“When Peter agrees with me, I get suspicious. Everything he says could be a lie or manipulation anyway.” 

Scott continued his careful journey up the stairs, wondering if they’d heard him yet or if they were too focused on each other. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said. “He doesn’t like me anyway.” 

Scott wasn’t sure if he was still talking about Peter. 

“Did he say that?” the female voice asked. 

“Pretty much.” 

“Pretty much isn’t the same as yes.” 

“He’s made it clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.” 

Scott was sure now the conversation wasn’t about Peter. He had a suspicion about the true subject. He kept up his climbing, nearly at the apartment now, when his foot hit a stair that creaked alarmingly. Scott froze. 

A moment later, the door to the loft apartment opened and Derek was there, glaring down at him. 

“Hi,” Scott said, suddenly nervous. He tried not to think about the fact that Derek could probably rip him to pieces in a fight. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek demanded. 

“Is it him?” the female voice asked. A girl stepped into the doorway, peering around Derek. She was dark-haired and probably about the same age as Scott, maybe a year or so older. She looked down at him with undisguised curiosity, and the scent of a werewolf drifted down to Scott. 

“This is Scott,” Derek said. The girl’s face fell. Scott had a little more evidence for his suspicions of who they might have been talking about. 

“I’ve come to talk to you about Stiles,” Scott said. 

Derek folded his arms and stood blocking the doorway. Scott came a little closer, so that he wasn’t staring up at Derek quite so much, but keeping enough of a distance that he would have a little bit of a head start if he needed to run. 

“I’m leaving him alone,” Derek said. “I’m doing what you asked.” 

“I’m still curious why you were giving him presents in the first place,” Scott said. 

“I told you. I wanted to do something nice after the mess last weekend.” 

The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes. She wasn’t buying that explanation any more than Scott was. 

“Do you like Stiles?” Scott asked. 

“He didn’t deserve what happened to him,” Derek said, which wasn’t really an answer. Scott was angry at Derek for all this evasion and he felt the anger tapping into the wolf power, as it always did. He felt the need to protect his friend, whether from physical or emotional pain. 

“Just answer the question!” Scott said. There was something unexpected in his voice, a depth there that he hadn’t intended. It was like an echo or a roar just behind his words. Derek flinched back just a little. 

“I like him,” Derek said. “But he clearly doesn’t like me. I’m not going to push him. He won’t hear from me again.” 

Scott was surprised that he found himself believing Derek’s admission. Last time, he had come here expecting tricks and traps, but the idea of Derek telling the truth actually made sense. It was possible Derek liked Stiles and genuinely felt bad about what had been done to him. Now he was making a gesture intended as friendly. Maybe it had misfired slightly, but Scott thought that Stiles had liked the presents. He just wasn’t sure what to do with this information. 

He left Derek’s place then, but Derek and the girl were careful not to restart their conversation when he was in earshot. Once outside, Scott went to his bike and headed straight for Stiles’ house. He wasn’t sure if he should tell Stiles what Derek had told him. There was a strong instinct to stay silent. He didn’t trust Derek and would be glad for Stiles to stay well away from him, but Stiles had yelled at him too many times in the past few days about keeping secrets. He probably owed it to Stiles to tell him the truth and let Stiles figure out what to do about it. 

Scott left his bike outside the house and went to knock on the front door. Stiles answered it almost at once. 

“Any new life-changing revelations that you’ve been concealing from me?” Stiles asked, more than a trace of bitterness in his voice. 

“Yes,” Scott said. 

Stiles blinked at him, then said, “There are some things I shouldn’t joke about.” 

They headed up to Stiles’ bedroom. Scott noticed that the Superman card had gone, as had the sheets of internet print-outs that Stiles had pinned to the board. A quick glance revealed that they’d been dumped in the trash. Maybe what Scott had to say wouldn’t matter. Maybe Stiles didn’t care about that stuff now that he knew it came from Derek because he didn’t care about Derek. 

“Well?” Stiles asked, flopping down to sit on the bed. “What new secrets have you got today?” 

“I went to talk to Derek again,” Scott said, “about the presents.” 

“What else is there to talk about?” Stiles asked. “He felt sorry for me. He gave me some stuff. End of story.” 

“He likes you.” 

“He hates me. He threatened to break my legs and rip out my throat and duct tape my mouth and god knows what else, just from spending a night and a day in my company. If it had carried on much longer, he probably would have killed me.” 

“He likes you,” Scott said again. 

“What makes you think that?” 

“He told me he likes you.” 

Stiles gave him a confused blink, then said, “And how do you know he wasn’t lying? Or being sarcastic?” 

“Stiles, he told me flat out that he likes you. Why is this such a difficult concept?” 

“Have you seen him? He could be a cover model for Dark and Brooding Monthly. He is strong and gorgeous and has supernatural powers and arms that are practically a work of art and an ass so fine it could be used as a weapon and he could probably walk into the club, which his family owns by the way, and have every girl in there drooling over him and half of the guys questioning their sexuality. Why the hell would he be interested in me?” 

Scott tried to think of a way to answer that, because his brain had stalled slightly on the realisation of how much attention Stiles had paid to Derek’s appearance. While Scott thought, Stiles seemed to be thinking too. 

“When he said liked,” Stiles continued, “do you know what way he meant it? ‘Cause I like curly fries, and I like my dad, and I like you, but it’s not like I’m thinking of licking whipped cream out of your navels or anything.” 

Scott shuddered at the mental picture of Stiles and his dad in that situation. 

“Please don’t talk about your dad like that in front of me ever again,” Scott said. 

Stiles gave a shudder himself and made a face, “Agreed. Ugh. My point is though that like is a very vague word with lots of potential interpretation. Do you know what way he meant it?” 

“He likes you enough to buy you books and cards,” Scott said. “Beyond that, I’ve no idea.” 

“So what do I do?” 

Scott shrugged, suggesting, “Forget all about it, pretend Derek doesn’t exist, and go back to imagining licking whipped cream out of Lydia Martin’s navel.” 

“You’re saying I should just ignore this?” 

“I don’t like Derek. I don’t trust him. I don’t want anything to do with him and I think you shouldn’t have anything to do with him either, but I can’t make you do anything.” 

“Then why did you tell me?” Stiles asked. 

“Because you keep hitting me round the head for not telling you things.” 

Stiles considered this answer and then nodded in acceptance. 

“It’s up to you what you do,” Scot said. “I think you should stay the hell away from Derek, but it’s your choice. Just… don’t do anything stupid. He’s dangerous.” 

***

Stiles kept running it through his head. Scott seemed adamant that Derek liked him, but that could mean any number of things. Stiles didn’t want to jump to conclusions about anything. Maybe it was just that Derek was lonely. After all, his sister had been murdered and he hated his uncle, so he couldn’t have much by way of family. He didn’t trust those his uncle had bitten, which left him with only one other sister to talk to. Maybe he just wanted a friend, just needed someone to talk to. The more he thought about it, the more he decided that was the case. After all, there was nothing romantic or sexual about any of the gifts Derek had left. 

Stiles made up his mind to ignore it, but, as the week went on, his thoughts kept returning to Derek and that big, empty apartment. Several times, he decided that he might go to see Derek, just to let him know that they couldn’t be friends because of the whole thing with Peter and Scott and the fact that Derek’s family had kidnapped him. It was polite to end things rather than leave them hanging. 

But then he’d change his mind again. After all, he’d ended things pretty finally and there were no more gifts showing up on his doorstep. Going to Derek’s to say anything might just complicate matters. No. It was definitely better to stay away. 

By the time Friday rolled around, he must have changed his mind a hundred times on the subject. Then Scott announced that he was going out with Allison again. Stiles faced the prospect of another Friday night be himself or worse, hanging out with his dad. He’d been thinking he needed to expand his social group. Maybe this was his chance. 

He told his dad he was going round to a friend’s to watch DVDs, even waving the DVDs at him as proof. 

“Be back by eleven,” his dad said. “And I might call to check up on you and if I hear club music you’ll be grounded for a lifetime.” 

“No problem,” Stiles said. 

A little while later, Stiles was huffing his way up the stairs at Derek’s place. Derek came out of his apartment as he rounded the last bend, looking at him with extreme suspicion. 

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” 

“Trigun.” 

Derek gave him a confused look. 

“Have you seen Trigun?” Stiles asked. 

“What’s Trigun?” 

“It’s an anime. Kind of a sci-fi western thing. I figured we could watch it, since you introduced me to Fruits Basket. Kind of a repayment thing.” 

Stiles had rarely felt less eloquent. He hadn’t exactly thought this plan through. Derek was still giving him a puzzled look and Stiles wondered if Derek had maybe just found images on the web and not know what they were from. Maybe Derek wasn’t actually an anime fan. Maybe Scott had been wrong about Derek liking him and now Derek was thinking of a way to tell Stiles to get lost. 

But then Derek stepped aside, giving Stiles room to enter the apartment. For a little while, Derek didn’t say another word, but he rearranged the coffee table in front of the couch and fetched his laptop. Then he took the DVDs from Stiles and put the first disk in. He didn’t invite Stiles to sit down or anything, but Stiles did anyway, flopping down on one end of the couch. Derek started the show playing, and then sat down on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Stiles as possible. 

The first episode started, playing in Japanese with subtitles. 

“There’s an English dub,” Stiles said. 

“You can’t watch anime in English,” Derek said. 

“But the voice of the main character is done by a Power Ranger.” 

Derek shot him a quick look, before returning his eyes to the screen, presumably so he could read the subtitles. When Stiles reached out for the laptop to change the language settings, Derek whacked his hand away and gave him a glare. Stiles sulked back against the couch. He hated subtitles. He liked to multitask and he couldn’t do that if he had to read as well as watch. Besides, what was the point of people putting all that effort into an excellent English version if people refused to listen to it? 

Still, Stiles had the DVDs and he’d watched them all before. He could watch them again in English when he wasn’t catering to Grumpy McGrumpface. Derek sulked and glowered through the whole episode. Stiles had the suspicion that Derek had only agreed to this out of politeness and that he’d kick him out as soon as the end credits rolled on the first episode. Stiles sat and fidgeted, feeling more uncomfortable with every passing minute of silence from the other end of the couch. 

Finally the end credits did start to roll. Stiles waited for Derek to do or say something, but Derek just sat there, watching the credits scrolling up the screen. 

“Well?” said Stiles. “What do you think?” 

“You can never tell from the first few episodes.” 

“It’s better in English.” 

“No.” 

“You can’t just say no. That’s not a valid argument. Besides, you haven’t seen the English version so how can you fairly comment? We should watch the next episode in English to balance things out so that you can see things objectively and realise that I’m right.” 

“Shut up, Stiles.” 

The opening credits of the next episode started. Stiles glared at Derek, trying to get him to see reason about the subtitles thing, but Derek appeared immune. Once the story started, Stiles couldn’t continue to glare because he had to actually look at the damn screen constantly because of those annoying subtitles. 

Derek didn't say anything as the episode played. Stiles fidgeted a little, uncomfortable with Derek’s silence. Maybe he was just really interested in watching the show. Maybe he didn’t actually like Stiles and was trying to be as discouraging as possible to make him leave. Finally, Stiles couldn’t bear it anymore. 

“It’s interesting to see an action show that demonstrates the economic impact of…” Stiles said. 

“Shut up, Stiles. I’m watching the show.” 

“You really don’t like conversation, do you?” 

“Don’t make me get the duct tape.” 

Stiles sank back into uncomfortable silence, while the computer screen showed anime bullets flying. There was no sign of a TV in the whole apartment. Derek must consume shows like this, in DVDs and downloads played on his computer, on a screen intended for one. 

“You don’t usually watch stuff with other people, do you?” Stiles asked. 

“No.” 

“It’s a good job we’re not watching Mystery Science Theatre. Your head would probably explode from all the interruptions.” 

“Do you want to talk or do you want to watch the show?” Derek asked. 

“I can multi-task. It would be easier to do both if we didn’t have to read the subtitles.” 

“Stiles, either shut up or I will tie your tongue to your ankle.” 

Stiles considered that threat for a moment and then asked, “How would that even work?” 

“Do you really want to find out?” Derek turned away from the screen then, fixing Stiles with a harsh glare. He looked like he was seriously considering physical violence. So much for Scott’s insistence that Derek liked him. 

Stiles slumped back against the couch, watching the action unravel. His favourite character wouldn’t show up for several episodes yet but he could watch the story. It felt uncomfortable again, as though Derek was trying to pretend he didn’t exist. Stiles was starting to think that he should have just stayed at home. He could be watching stuff on his own without having to deal with the angriest audience ever. 

When the episode ended, Derek reached for the computer. Stiles thought the ordeal was over. He thought Derek was stopping the show so he could kick him out, but he just hit pause. 

“Want a drink?” Derek asked. 

“Erm… sure… Beer?” 

Derek shot him a glare. He walked over to the fridge and, very deliberately, got out a carton of juice, making sure Stiles saw. 

“Spoilsport,” Stiles said. 

While Derek poured the juice, he asked, “You hungry?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“Pizza or Chinese?” 

“I don’t mind. I’ll eat anything.” 

“Raw deer hunted down in the woods it is then,” Derek said. 

“Was that a joke?” Stiles asked, seriously hoping it was. “And, for the record, if someone has to ask whether something is a joke, then it wasn’t a very good joke.” 

Derek smirked. Then he got his phone out and called for pizza. 

It seemed Stiles was stuck here for a while longer. 

They watched a third episode while they waited for the pizza, with Stiles pointing out all the benefits of an English dub. Derek had progressed from arguing to just pretending Stiles didn’t exist, which made Stiles only want to fill the silence even more. So Stiles pointed out that if the sound was in English, then he would be listening to the show and be less inclined to talk over it. 

“You would talk over Shakespeare,” Derek said. 

“Hell no,” Stiles said. “That guy made innuendoes and dick jokes and teachers treat it like the most serious shit in the universe. I have epic amounts of respect for that dude.” 

“Did you really just call Shakespeare a dude?” 

“Well there are a few conspiracy theorists who think that he was a she but pretty much all of the evidence is pointing to dudeness.” 

Clearly Derek couldn’t think of a good argument for that one because he resorted to the now-standard, “Shut up, Stiles.” 

When the pizza finally arrived, Derek waited until Stiles had a large mouthful before commenting that maybe now Stiles would actually stop talking. 

“I can still talk,” Stiles said, voice muffled by the large quantity of pizza stuffed in his mouth. 

“That is disgusting. Keep that up and I’ll take the food away.” 

Stiles smiled around his mouthful of food. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment then said, “No.” 

Derek grabbed the pizza box off the table and held it to himself at his end of the couch. Stiles finally swallowed the bit he’d been working on and reached out for more. Derek held the box away from him, over the end of the couch. Stiles shifted position, coming up onto his knees on the couch cushions and reaching across Derek’s body towards the pizza box. Derek held his arm out straight, away from the couch, keeping the pizza away from Stiles’ eager grip. Stiles moved again, trying to claim his goal, scrambling over Derek to reach along his arm as Derek tried to contort himself in his seat to keep the pizza from him. Stiles fought his hand along Derek’s arm, catching a corner of a pizza slice and coming away triumphant. He gave a jubilant yell as he held the pizza slice aloft. 

Only then did Stiles realise their positions. Derek was still sitting on the couch and Stiles had somehow ended up kneeling astride him, one leg on either side of Derek’s. He’d been nearly pressed against Derek in his efforts to reach the pizza box and now he realised how close they were. He only had to move he mouth a couple of inches and they would be kissing. 

Stiles met Derek’s eyes and saw that Derek realised it too. Derek’s eyes flicked down to Stiles’ lips before returning to his eyes. It would be such a simple thing to do. Such a small move. He wondered if he should do it. He wondered if Derek would. He wondered if Derek wanted to. 

The blare of his cell phone startled Stiles so much that he fell off the couch, ending up in a heap at Derek’s feet. He still clung to his hand-won piece of pizza while he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. It was his dad. 

“Hey, Dad,” he answered. 

“Just checking in,” his dad said. “Making sure everything’s OK.” 

“Everything’s fine. Just, you know, eating pizza, watching anime.” 

“Well, have fun. And remember to be back by eleven.” 

“I will.” 

Stiles hung up the phone. He returned to his end of the couch. The moment earlier had been broken and it would be beyond awkward to try and reclaim it now. Besides, his dad had reminded Stiles of all that had happened. His dad was still so scared on his behalf and he had a right to be so. Stiles felt almost ashamed of being so forgiving of Derek after everything. 

His eyes lighted on the pillar to which he’d spent so many hours uncomfortably chained, and an evil idea occurred to him. He leaned back against the couch, trying to look relaxed, wanting to give Derek no hint of deception. 

“There’s another anime you might want to try,” Stiles said. “Not now, obviously, since we’re watching this one, but sometime. The first few episodes are a bit weird but stick with it because once the plot kicks in it’ll make sense.” 

“What is it?” Derek asked. 

Stiles had to hope Derek wasn’t doing the lie-detector thing he and his uncle had done before, and he said the name of the show. Revenge could be petty, but it could also be pretty damn sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the voice of Vash the Stampede in the English dub of Trigun is done by Jonny Yong Bosch who played the second Black Power Ranger.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't actually named the anime, but there is one in particular I'm thinking of. I'm curious to see if anyone will be able to guess which show it is.

Stiles walked out of school on Monday after a particularly tough lacrosse practice. He’d finally realised how much the bite had changed Scott. He wasn’t bothered by his asthma anymore he was less bothered about hiding it and that seemed to shine in his performance. So now Stiles was the one who struggled through practice while the others seemed to play with ease. He’d taken a long shower to get rid of what felt like an entire lake of sweat and so the parking lot was almost deserted when he crossed to his jeep. 

He had the keys out when someone grabbed him from behind, slamming him hard against the hood of the jeep. A body pressed against him from behind and a hand forced his head down against the cold metal, squashing his face against it. Shocked and scared, Stiles scrabbled for purchase, hands flailing as he tried to get hold of his attacker of something. He’d dropped his keys in surprise, so he couldn’t even jab a key into his attacker. His attacker now leaned over him, body pressing against his back. A voice growled in Stiles’ ear. 

“I should pry your eyes out of their sockets and make you eat them.” 

“Derek?” Stiles said. He struggled against the grip, but werewolf strength had him firmly pinned. “What’s up?” 

“What’s up?” Derek demanded. “What’s up? I should rip your oesophagus out and strangle you with it, except that you’d be dead too fast and you deserve to suffer for what you put me through.” 

“You didn’t like the anime then?” 

“I sat through that thing because you told me to, and I quote, ‘stick with it’. I kept waiting for the plot to start. There was that ominous stuff in the credits that I thought had to mean something and then there was that bit of foreshadowing and I thought finally something good was about to happen, but then they got to the final episode and they made a _joke_ out of the fact that there was no plot and the foreshadowing went nowhere. I sat through twelve episodes of that nightmare because you said the plot would make it worth it and there was nothing!” Derek’s voice was a low and angry growl in Stiles’ ear again, “There. Was. No. Plot.” 

“You really do have an anger management problem,” Stiles said, though he could see Derek’s point. He’d wanted to throw his computer through a window when he’d reached the last episode of that particular series. This plan for revenge had seemed a lot more fun before he’d been slammed into a car. 

That aside, he wasn’t actually hurt. Derek’s hold was firm and unrelenting, but not painful. In fact, Stiles was acutely aware of Derek’s body pressing against his. Legs against his legs. Chest against his back. The closeness sent a shiver through Stiles that had nothing to do with fear. He felt Derek’s breath hot against his ear as he asked, “Why would you inflict that on me?” 

“You chained me up on your floor overnight.” 

There was a short silence. The weight eased up a little, the hand no longer pressing so hard against Stiles’ head. For a moment, Stiles thought that maybe Derek was reacting to what Stiles had said. 

“Hey!” a voice yelled and suddenly Derek’s weight was yanked free completely from Stiles’ back. Stiles straightened in time to see Derek recovering his balance and Scott moving to stand between them. Stiles actually felt sad that Derek’s warmth was no longer pressed against him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Scott demanded. He looked ready to leap on Derek and rip him to pieces. Stiles had rarely seen his best friend so angry. 

“It’s kind of my fault,” Stiles said. “I tricked him into watching an anime.” 

“And that justifies him assaulting you?” 

“It was a really bad anime,” Stiles said. 

Scott looked at him like he was insane. Derek's glare had diminished slightly from a complete death glare to one of only mild maiming. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was because he’d admitted that maybe he’d done something mean, or because Derek had understood his reasons for doing it. 

“You’re supposed to be staying away from Stiles,” Scott told Derek. 

“He came to me,” Derek said. 

“And you shoved him into a car?” 

“There wasn’t a wall handy.” 

“You are not allowed to hurt Stiles,” Scott said. “That was part of the deal I made with Peter.” 

“Maybe you guys can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Stiles suggested. 

Two pairs of eyes turned to glare at him. 

“Look, it’s fine,” Stiles said. “No one is hurt. No harm, no foul. No need for threats and posturing.” 

Scott took a small step away from Derek. The tension and threat of a moment before seemed to diminish slightly. Stiles moved away from his jeep, reclaiming his fallen keys as he did so. Scott jabbed a finger towards Derek. 

“You can’t hurt Stiles,” he said. It was a heartfelt threat, diminished only slightly by the fact that Derek was twice the size of Scott. Still, Stiles could appreciate the intention. 

Derek nodded once to Scott, then said to Stiles, “You’ll pay.” 

“As in, you’re going to enact bloody vengeance on me,” Stiles asked, “or as in I’ll have to pay for the take out next time?” 

But all Derek said was a repeat of, “You’ll pay,” and then he turned and walked away. 

Then Stiles was left standing by his jeep under Scott’s confused gaze. 

“What the hell is going on with you two?” Scott asked. 

“Honestly, I have no idea. There were some DVDs, some take out, lots of him telling me to shut up. I’m still moderately convinced that he hates me and is planning on murdering me in my sleep but there might have been a moment when I think we nearly kissed but that might just have been my imagination.” 

Scott blinked. He was still staring at Stiles like he was utterly insane. 

“You nearly kissed?” 

“Yeah, but he also threatened me with physical violence a bunch of times, which probably cancels it out.” 

Scott was still staring. Stiles wondered if it was a werewolf thing because he wasn’t sure Scott never used to do so much silently staring. It might be that Stiles was just reaching new levels of insane behaviour, but hanging out with a werewolf who’d kidnapped him was probably only halfway up the list of insane things he’d done. 

“Maybe you should just not see him again,” Scott suggested. 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Stiles said. Except he’d left his Trigun DVDs at Derek’s place. Anime DVDs were expensive so there was no way he was going to sacrifice them, which meant he had no choice but to see Derek again, if only to get them back. 

“Want to team up on those math problems?” Scott asked. 

“Sure. Why not? My place?” 

“OK. I’ll meet you there.” 

Scott started towards where he’d parked his bike, but he paused to wave at someone across the parking lot. Stiles turned, seeing Allison getting into the passenger seat of a car. She was smiling back at Scott and waving, but Stiles’ attention was drawn to the man standing by the driver’s door. Allison’s father. He was staring straight at Stiles. 

***

A couple of days later, Stiles stopped off for gas on the way home from school, expecting nothing worse than a horribly high cost at the cash register. He’d just started pumping the gas when two cars pulled into the forecourt, one penning his jeep in from behind, the other blocking the front. Stiles stood there, confused and more than a little scared. He couldn’t get his jeep out, but maybe he could run for the building and get the attendant to call the cops. 

Then a familiar figure stepped out of one of the cars. It was Allison’s father. He gave Stiles a smile that wasn’t at all reassuring. 

“Hello, Stiles,” he said. That really shouldn’t have sounded like a threat. 

Stiles still had a hand on the handle of the pump. Maybe he could douse this guy in gas and make a break for it. He didn’t have a lighter or anything that would make the gas an effective weapon though. 

A couple of men had got out of the other car. Stiles had probably missed his opportunity to run. But maybe if he started yelling the guy at the register inside the building might notice and call someone. 

“I think my friends can finish up here,” Argent said. “Let’s you and I have a little chat.” 

He gestured towards his car. 

“I think we can chat quite nicely out here,” Stiles said. He’d been kidnapped enough times in the recent past and he hoped that this guy wasn’t about to start something in a public place. He could see a security camera on the wall of the building. Surely Argent wasn’t going to do anything when he was being filmed. 

“I think we’ll need privacy for this,” Argent said. “Some secrets shouldn’t be said in the open. I promise, we won’t be leaving this gas station.” 

Stiles had no way to know if he was telling the truth or not. But Argent was there at his side, a hand on his shoulder. He started guiding Stiles towards the other car. The grip was firm, but at least it didn’t have werewolf strength behind it. Stiles glanced once more towards the gas station building. He could see the guy at the register, bent over a magazine and not even glancing outside at the unfolding scene. 

“HEY!!!” Stiles yelled at the top of his lungs, twisting out of Argent’s grip and starting towards the building. 

Argent grabbed him from behind, a hand slamming tightly over Stiles’ mouth. Stiles kicked madly at Argent’s legs, but Argent just hauled him to his car, and shoved Stiles into the back of it before climbing in behind him. 

There was someone already in there, a woman Stiles recognised as Allison’s mom, Victoria. So Stiles found himself in the back seat of the car, pinned in between Allison’s parents, and surrounded by purple flowers. They were scattered over the floor and seat, hanging from the mirror, tied to the door handles, and just about everywhere. The smell of them was overpowering, filling the whole vehicle. It probably would have been nice if it wasn’t so strong. There was only one thing it could possibly be: wolfsbane. 

“What’s this about?” Stiles asked. He might have his suspicions, but he wasn’t going to confirm anything for them. If that meant playing dumb, then that was what he had to do. “You can’t just grab me like this. My dad’s the sheriff and, believe me, he really doesn’t react well to me being kidnapped.” 

“This isn’t a kidnapping,” Chris said. “This is a friendly chat.” 

“You don’t want to see unfriendly,” his wife added. 

“What do you want with me?” Stiles asked. Could he get his phone? It was still in his pocket. Could he get to it and dial 911 without them noticing? Probably not with them penning him in like this. 

“We wanted to talk to you about your animal control problem,” Chris said. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You really think I wouldn’t notice the scene at the school the other day?” 

“That’s not a problem with animals though,” Stiles said. 

“Isn’t it?” Victoria said. 

“He seemed to be acting something of an animal to me,” Chris added. 

“Look, I don’t see how that has anything to do with you.” 

“The Hales are dangerous.” 

“Derek isn’t dangerous,” Stiles said, after only a fraction of a second’s hesitation. It was possible he was being an idiot for thinking this. It was possible he was going to end up suffering massively, but he didn’t think Derek would hurt him. For all his threats and bluster, Derek had had plenty of opportunities to hurt him and he hadn’t. 

“You’re very specific,” Victoria said. “Chris said that the Hales, plural, are dangerous, and you call out one and say he isn’t.” 

“Well I haven’t met his sister, so I don’t know how dangerous or not she is,” Stiles said. 

“What about Peter Hale?” Victoria asked. 

“I don’t get why you’re so interested in me,” Stiles said. “If you’re worried about Peter Hale, go talk to him. You can just grab me.” 

“If he has some hold over you,” Chris said, “we can help. Just tell us what happened the other day.” 

“None. Of. Your. Business.” 

“I understand you got in a little trouble a couple of weeks ago,” Chris continued. “Kidnapping, was the rumour, but then someone said it was just a prank that went a little wrong. No perpetrators were named. And suddenly Derek Hale is threatening you in the school property. Makes me wonder what really happened to you.” 

“I was carried away by Peter Pan to Neverland for a wonderful adventure,” Stiles said, “but then I realised I had to come home and grow up.” 

“Stiles, I hope you realise that we’re only trying to help. The Hale family and our family, you might say that we have history. Whatever you might have learned about them, even if you’re afraid you won’t be believed, you can be sure we will believe you.” 

“Well I believe I should be getting home,” Stiles said. “Are you done with your vague comments and hints?” 

“We’re done,” Chris said. “But you might want to take these with you.” 

He stood and opened the car door, climbing out to allow Stiles to exit. But he took a bunch of the purple flowers from the door handle as he did so and now he held them out to Stiles. Stiles stared hard at the flowers, then looked up and met Chris’ eyes. 

“No thanks,” he said. “You’re not my type. Now excuse me, I’ve got to pay for my gas.” 

“Don’t bother. It’s taken care of.” 

Chris got back into his car. The other goons, who’d been waiting by the jeep, got into theirs and pulled away. In moments, Stiles was alone on the forecourt. Stiles took a moment to draw in a deep breath. The air stank of gas, but it was better than those cloying flowers. 

He double checked to make sure that Chris had been telling the truth about paying, since he didn’t want his dad to bust him for stealing gas. It seemed one of the goons had finished filling the tank and paid the bill while Stiles was having his uncomfortable conversation. Stiles wasn’t one to complain about a free tank of gas, even if it had come with a side order of weirdness. 

The first thing he did when he reached home was get Scott on skype and tell him everything that had just happened. 

“I guess they know that I’m not a werewolf,” Stiles said, “because I didn’t react to the wolfsbane but they didn’t use the W word, so they probably don’t know for sure that I actually know.” 

“Right,” said Scott. 

“So we know that they know about werewolves but they don’t know that we know about werewolves.” 

“Right.” 

“Are you actually following me or are you just agreeing with me for the sake of it?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes?” said Scott. 

“What should I do?” Stiles asked. “Am I going to have werewolf hunters stalking me now?” 

“Maybe not,” said Scott. “I mean, they know you’re not a werewolf so if you just keep away from Derek, then they’ll probably decide there’s nothing going on.” 

“Are you just saying that because you think I should be staying away from Derek anyway?” 

“He shoved you into your jeep because of some animation,” Scott said. “That’s not a healthy reaction. Given that the last time you saw him, he threatened you, staying away is the only sensible thing to do.” 

“But he’s still got my DVDs.” 

“What’s more important, some DVDs or not getting beaten the crap out of you?” Scott asked. 

***

Which was why, on Friday, Stiles found himself heading back to Derek’s place after school. He checked his mirror repeatedly, trying to make sure he wasn’t being followed by an Argent or any of their agents. He was pretty sure no one was following him, but he looped round the block a couple of times before parking the jeep. Then he headed inside. 

Derek was waiting for him. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Derek said. 

“You’ve got my DVDs. I figured if you were still mad at me, I could just take them and you wouldn’t have to see me again.” 

Derek stepped aside and gestured towards the table by the window. 

“Have a seat,” Derek said. It wasn’t exactly a welcoming tone of voice, but it was better that Stiles would have expected based on their last encounter. 

Stiles sat down, taking one of the old, wooden chairs that were pulled up at the table. He wondered if Derek had something else in mind tonight, rather than just sharing the couch again. He also wondered how to raise the subject of the Argents, because Derek probably ought to know that their argument in the school parking lot had been spotted by someone who knew his secret. 

He was still sitting there, figuring out how to explain what had happened at the gas station, when he heard an unmistakable sound from behind him. Tape being peeled back. 

“What the hell?” Stiles said. He started to get up but then Derek’s arms were around him from behind, sticking a length of tape across his chest and arms, looping the tape around the chair and then back round in front of him again. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles demanded, as Derek looped the tape round and round his body. Stiles’ arms were trapped at his sides, being securely bound in duct tape, pinned to the chair. 

“I said I’d make you pay,” Derek said. 

He crouched down beside Stiles, catching Stiles’ leg when he tried to kick him in the face. A quick application of tape soon had Stiles’ legs each secured to one of the front legs of the chair. In about a minute, Derek set down on the table the empty ring of cardboard that had once held a roll of duct tape. All that tape was now busy holding Stiles firmly in place. 

“What are you going to do to me?” Stiles asked, genuinely worried. All of Scott’s warnings, which had seemed ridiculous back at school, now seemed very, very serious. Derek could do absolutely anything he wanted to Stiles right now. 

“Justice,” Derek said. He fetched his laptop, setting it up on the table in front of Stiles and carefully angling the screen so that it would be at the perfect angle for Stiles. So his fears of torture and death were apparently unfounded, which was good to know, but Stiles was still really concerned about what Derek might have planned. He pulled up a media player, readying a file to be played. 

“I’m going to fetch dinner,” Derek said, “and I wouldn’t want you to get bored.” 

“What are you going to make me watch?” Stiles asked. It had to be something pretty awful to justify all the duct tape. 

“I have four words for you,” Derek said, standing beside Stiles and leaning close to his ear. He whispered them menacingly, “Star Wars Holiday Special.” 

He hit play and turned away, walking for the apartment door. 

“No!” Stiles yelled. “Come on, Derek. This isn’t fair. You could have stopped watching the ninja show whenever you liked. I didn’t duct tape you to a chair.” Derek walked out, shutting the door behind him, but Stiles kept yelling, remembering how good werewolf hearing was supposed to be. “I’ve already seen the holiday special. I found a copy once to see if it was really as bad as people said. No one should have to sit through it twice. Come on, Derek, have mercy! This is torture. This is cruel and unusual treatment that would get you condemned by the United Nations.” Stiles squirmed and struggled against the tape, but it held fast. There was no sign of mercy from Derek. No sign of Derek at all. 

“I get you for this!” Stiles yelled, then he slumped back against the chair, glaring at the laptop screen and the low resolution video of a wookie family. 

This really wasn’t fair. Yes, he’d encouraged Derek to watch that hideous anime, but Derek had been the one who’d hit play. Derek could have stopped watching when he realised how annoying it was. Stiles hadn’t actually forced him to watch it. This situation was completely different and completely unacceptable. As soon as Derek got back, Stiles was going to make it explicitly clear exactly what he thought of this. 

He just hoped that would be soon. He really hoped Derek wasn’t planning on making him sit through the whole thing. He also wondered what would happen if his dad picked this moment to check up on him. 

Fortunately, maybe fifteen minutes into the video, Stiles heard footsteps outside and the door opening again. Hopefully Derek had decided to be merciful, but Stiles wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of begging. 

“Well,” said a voice that wasn’t Derek’s, “when Derek said he couldn’t come to the club because he was doing something important, I didn’t guess that he meant you.” 

Stiles strained round, trying to get a view of the doorway, and saw Peter walking in, an amused smirk on his face. Stiles renewed his attempts to get out of the tape, but he was still stuck fast. Stiles had no way to escape, while Peter walked calmly across the room towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have started to watch the Star Wars Holiday Special to see if it really was as bad as all that. I didn't make it all the way through because yes, it really is.


	11. Chapter 11

“You may want to have a word with Derek about calling you a thing though,” Peter said, walking across the room to where Stiles was trapped, duct taped to one of Derek’s chairs. 

“Can I just call you a thing instead?” Stiles asked. 

Peter walked over, running a hand over the layers of tape that had Stiles trapped. Stiles could feel the slight pressure of his fingers through the tape, running up and down his arm. It might have been a caress. Stiles wanted to cringe away from that touch, but there was absolutely nothing he could do, no way to fight back or get free. 

He was trying desperately not to panic, heart pounding in his chest. Peter could do absolutely anything to him right now and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop him. Beneath the fear was a shred of fury, anger at Derek for leaving him like this. 

“Duct tape is a classic,” Peter said, “but in future, you might want to take your clothes off first. It makes things a lot simpler later on.” 

“I’m quite happy not having my clothes off in front of you, thank you,” Stiles said. “Now do you mind getting your hand off me.” 

He was fighting to sound calm, to not let Peter know how much he was affecting him. But Peter must be able to hear his heart racing. Peter probably knew exactly what he was doing. He was probably enjoying this. 

“Of course,” Peter gave a pleasant smile and stepped back. He removed his hand from Stiles’ arm and held it out in a placating gesture. It didn’t help Stiles’ sense of comfort any. His heart was still pounding, his thoughts surging with images of what Peter might decide to do to him. Stiles had absolutely no way to stop him if Peter should decide to try things like taking Stiles’ clothes off. 

“I wouldn’t want to interfere with my nephew’s fun,” Peter continued. “But really, he shouldn’t have left you alone. It’s bad practice to leave someone alone during a scene. Too many possible complications. Loss of circulation. Choking. Nasty things like that. He should really stay where he can keep an eye on things.” 

A scene? Suddenly the comment about clothes made a lot more sense. Peter thought this was a precursor to kinky, bondage sex. Stiles wasn’t sure how to respond to that. His first instinct was to deny everything, but he wasn’t sure how to explain this situation to Peter, or that he even wanted to. He wasn’t sure he wanted Peter to know anything about his exchanges with Derek. But he also didn’t really want to have bondage advice from this guy. He felt like he needed to take a shower for a month just to wash away the way this guy was looking at him. 

“One must be very careful,” said Peter, “when experimenting with this kind of...” he stopped, seeming to notice the computer screen for the first time. “What is that?” 

“It’s a family of wookies worrying that their loved one hasn’t come home for Life Day,” Stiles said. “Obviously.” 

Peter gave the computer a very confused look, then turned that look on Stiles. 

“Far be it from me to question someone’s tastes,” Peter said, with an expression that said some serious questioning was going on. 

“Well, go and question them elsewhere,” said Stiles. He really hoped Derek would be back soon. If he’d planned on leaving Stiles for the whole video, he might not be back for an hour. Peter might do anything to Stiles in that hour. 

“Come now,” said Peter, “we’re practically family.” 

“How do you figure that?” Stiles asked. 

“Well, Derek is my family. Anyone close to Derek’s heart, is close to my own.” 

Stiles resisted the urge to ask if he counted Derek’s sister in that. He wasn’t sure how much Peter knew about the conversations he and Derek had had here when Stiles had been a prisoner. He didn’t feel the need to give away anything, even though Peter probably knew better than Stiles did how much Derek hated him. 

Stiles couldn't afford to antagonise Peter now. He just wanted Peter gone. He would rather watch that terrible video a million times over than sit here with Peter, knowing that Peter might get it into his head to do anything. 

“Well, I shouldn’t trespass on your fun,” Peter said. He patted Stiles once on the shoulder and then started for the door. He stopped, seeing Derek standing in the doorway, bag of take out in his hand and glare on his face. There was a look of fury in his eyes beyond any that Stiles had yet seen from him. 

“Ah, nephew,” Peter said. “You really shouldn’t leave one like this alone. Anything could happen.” 

“Get out!” Derek growled. 

“If you say so. I’ll leave you two to your fun.” 

Peter winked at Stiles and then headed past Derek and out the door. Derek paused long enough to look after him, to be sure he was leaving, then he hurried across the room, dumping the bag of take out on the table and letting his nails grow to claws. Stiles barely had half a second to start to get worried, and then Derek slashed through the layers of tape. Stiles could get off the chair again, pulling away the sticky duct tape that had held him trapped moments before. He practically leapt to his feet, pulling away from Derek and that damn chair. 

His hand were shaking as he tore strips of tape from his clothes. Nothing had happened. He had to repeat that thought over and over. Nothing had happened. He wasn’t hurt. He was fine. But he couldn’t quite stop his heart from racing. 

“Are you alright?” Derek asked. “Did he do anything to you?” 

Stiles shook his head, saying, “He gave me a few tips on bondage scenes.” 

Derek glanced back towards the door. Stiles wondered if he was checking in some werewolf super-sensory way to be sure that Peter was really gone. 

“Bondage?” Derek said. “He thinks that we’re...” 

“Yep,” Stiles said. “Though I think the wookies freaked him out a little.” 

Derek looked at the computer, seeming to notice it was there for the first time. He hit a button and killed the video player. When he wasn’t looking at Stiles anymore, Stiles could see the tension in his shoulders. He’d been worried, genuinely worried, when he’d seen Stiles here with Peter. He’d been angry and scared and now he stood there, looking almost as shaken as Stiles felt. 

“Don’t do that again,” Stiles said. “I never, ever want to be helpless near Peter. I don’t care what plots of revenge you dream up in the future, you do not leave me tied up somewhere where Peter might walk in. Got it?” 

“I promise,” Derek said. “I won’t... I won’t leave you helpless again. I’m sorry.” 

Derek wasn’t meeting Stiles’ eye, but still Stiles was certain Derek meant it. The way he’d looked when he’d seen Peter here had been genuine, terror and anger together. 

“I understand if you want to leave,” Derek said. “If you don’t want to see me again.” 

He still wasn’t looking at Stiles. Everything about him seemed to have shut down. His posture was closed in, his face a blank mask, cold and hard. He was bracing himself for Stiles to leave, readying himself for the blow. 

Stiles could leave. He could walk away and go home and forget all about this. He could shower away the memory of Peter’s hand on his arm. But there was something about Derek’s expression that made him halt. Derek looked as upset about all this as Stiles felt, with an added dose of guilt. Derek hadn’t expected that to happen. He hadn’t considered the consequences of leaving Stiles like that, but Stiles was hardly one to judge someone for not thinking a plan through properly. 

Besides, Derek had already promised not to do this again. 

“That would be a waste of perfectly good take out,” Stiles said. And Stiles had just a moment to see the surprise on Derek’s face, before everything was locked away behind a calm mask again. Derek gave him a little nod, and then started unpacking boxes of Chinese food. 

“But,” Stiles continued, “I’m going to have to insist on a better calibre of audio-visual entertainment.” 

Derek finally looked at him and quirked an eyebrow, “Well someone left some DVDs lying around here last week.” 

They took a few minutes to rearrange everything. Derek brought the laptop over to the coffee table and fetched the power cable so that it wouldn’t run out of power. He also had to fish out the DVDs and remember which disk they were on. Stiles took care of the food, moving it to where it would be in easy reach and fetching forks from the kitchen area. 

“We should probably stop with the whole horrible-video-revenge thing,” Stiles said, as he settled down on the couch. “I mean, I could go around and fish out, I dunno, the 1997 Batman and Robin and force you to watch it in revenge for this, but I think it’s better for everyone if we just quit now. I got you with one, you got me with one, even. Right?” 

Stiles had started off sounding confident, but that confidence trailed away when he saw the dubious look Derek was giving him. He waited, hopefully, for an agreement. 

Instead, Derek said, “You can’t seriously compare Batman and Robin to the Star Wars Holiday Special.” 

“Nipples on the bat suit,” Stiles pointed out. 

“That’s one little moment of hideousness. It doesn’t compare.” 

“One little moment?” Stiles was about to launch into a spiel about that movie, but Derek sat down on the couch beside him, reached out, and covered Stiles’ mouth with his hand. 

“Shush,” Derek said. “We’ve got an anime to watch.” 

“Fine,” Stiles said. “But don’t think I haven’t forgotten the whole duct tape thing. I will be plotting a way to tie you up and get vengeance for that.” 

“Tying won’t work,” Derek said. “Werewolf strength. You’ll need chains secured to something solid.” 

Stiles stared at Derek, almost oblivious to the anime episode starting on Derek’s laptop screen. Was Derek seriously giving him advice on how to restrain him? And what did that even mean? 

***

His dad’s car was parked out front when Stiles got home, which was unfortunate. Still, Stiles hoped that maybe his dad was busy or distracted or already in bed. Stiles quietly opened the front door and snuck into the hall, locking the door behind him. 

“Stiles,” his dad’s voice came through, clear and stern, from the living room. Stiles winced. He followed the sound of the voice through into the room. His dad was sitting in an armchair, glancing pointedly at the clock and then looking back at Stiles. 

“Hey, dad,” Stiles said, shooting for casual and missing by about a mile. 

“I thought we said curfew was eleven,” his dad said. 

“Sorry. I got a little distracted. And I’m not that late.” 

“You got distracted. Doing what?” 

“Watching DVDs.” 

“Uh-huh,” his dad said. His face and tone suggested a complete lack of believe in that statement. He looked Stiles up and down and then asked, “Is that duct tape on your pants?” 

“What?! No!” Stiles said. But he looked down and there was what was unmistakably a bit of duct tape still stuck to the leg of his pants. He thought he’d got it all off once Derek had let him loose. He peeled it off now, scrunching it up in his hand as though that could make the problem disappear. 

“Why do you have duct tape stuck to you?” his dad asked. 

“I... no reason...” Stiles said. He instantly thought back to the confrontation with Peter and the conclusions he’d leapt to, so Stiles felt the need to add, “It was not a sex thing.” 

“I never suggested it was,” his dad said. “I find it interesting that you’d feel the need to say that. In my line of work, when someone denies something before they’re even accused of it, it’s what we generally consider suspicious.” 

Stiles frantically searched his mind for anything he might say that would make this seem less suspicious to his dad. While Stiles stood there, his dad got up from his chair and crossed the room to him, looking him seriously in the eye. 

“Was it consensual?” his dad asked. 

“Ish,” Stiles answered, because saying no and admitting that he’d nearly had a panic attack would probably lead to Derek getting shot. 

“Stiles, there is no ish. There’s consent. Or there isn’t.” 

“Dad, I swear to god, it wasn’t a sex thing.” 

“Then what sort of a thing was it?” his dad asked. 

“I tricked a guy into watching a really awful show,” Stiles said, “so he taped me to a chair and made me watch an equally awful show.” Stiles realised there were lots of ways that could be interpreted, so he added quickly, “Nothing pornographic. Although the musical bit with the brain doodad machine is seriously suggestive for something aimed at kids.” Stiles stopped before he made this any worse for himself. 

“So that’s all you were doing?” his dad said. “Just watching videos?” 

“Exactly.” 

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that three weeks ago you had cuff marks on your wrists after being out for the night?” 

“Erm...” Stiles said, caught off guard by the question and unable to think of a suitable response. Even just saying no would have been enough, but he had to go and pause because he hadn’t expected his dad to link the two together. Now his dad was staring at him and he knew that Stiles was with the person who’d kidnapped him, only now his dad was thinking other things that Stiles really didn’t want him thinking. 

“Stiles,” his dad said, “you’re young. You’re full of hormones and still figuring out who you like and what you like. I just want you to be careful. This kind of thing... it can be dangerous, even if the person you’re with means well. Mistakes can be made. Things can go too far.” He reached out then and took hold of Stile’s hand, lifting it up and pushing back the sleeve of Stiles’ hoodie, to reveal the marks on Stiles’ wrist. The bruises had faded now, but the scrapes were still visible as healing scars, red lines ringing his hands. 

“It’s really not like that,” Stiles said, but his dad was in full flow. 

“I want you to be safe,” his dad said. “I don’t want you doing this, but since you never listen to me when I tell you not to do something, do your research. Make sure that everything is double checked and safe. Don’t do this with anyone who you don’t trust completely. And if you have any doubts at all about what you’re doing, say no. And for god’s sake, use protection.” 

“It’s not a kinky sex thing!” Stiles said, almost yelling. 

“Stiles...” 

“No! I’m serious! This is not about sex. It’s not going to be about sex. He’s basically told me that he doesn’t find me attractive. We’ve just been watching anime DVDs. And eating take out. That’s it! I don’t need another conversation in bondage best practices.” 

“Another conversation?” 

Stiles winced inwardly at his own words, “His uncle walked in when I was taped to the chair and leapt to the same conclusions you did. And that conversation was just as awkward. So I’m walking away now. Before this gets even more awkward.” 

“Stiles,” his dad called just before Stiles could leave the room, “you know you could tell me if there was something going on, right?” 

“Dad, if I had a boyfriend, girlfriend, or non-binary significant other, I would be shouting it from the rooftops. But I don’t. I’m still single. It’s just now I’m single with a friend who I can watch anime with.” 

Stiles walked away before the awkwardness could continue, but his thoughts caught on the last words he’d spoken. He’d called Derek a friend, but was he really? Did Derek think of this as friendship? Or did he just put up with Stiles because he didn’t have anyone else to watch anime with?


	12. Chapter 12

Grocery shopping was not an acceptable use of a Saturday morning as far as Stiles was concerned. But they needed the groceries and his dad had determined that this would serve as punishment for being out after curfew when he knew his dad would worry. At least this way he could be sure his dad wasn’t sneaking red meat into the shopping cart. 

Stiles was working his way down the list as well as adding a few extra vegetables that his dad had inexplicably left off the list, when he noticed that he was being stared at. A boy of about his own age was standing a little way down the aisle. When Stiles noticed him, the boy instantly turned away and pretended to be intently studying a display of oranges, but Stiles was sure he’d been staring. He looked familiar, though it took him a moment to work out where from. 

He used to go to Beacon Hills High School. Stiles thought he’d even been at lacrosse with him, though never good enough to be one of the first line players. He’d always been the quiet one, hiding out of the limelight. What was his name? Isaac? He’d disappeared quite suddenly from school amid some mess about his dad. And now he was in the grocery store, apparently stalking Stiles. 

Stiles pushed his cart on further. He bent down to pick up a couple of potatoes from a box on the lowest shelf. He took the opportunity to glance sideways and check that Isaac was still there. He was. And he was still looking at him. 

Stiles was more than a little freaked out. Over the past few weeks, he’d been stalked by werewolves and grabbed by hunters. His perfectly ordinary life had become suddenly filled with mysterious figures watching him and sneaking around. He really didn’t want someone else added to his collection of weird people to beware of. 

He reached the end of the aisle and pushed the cart around the corner, stopping there to wait for his stalker. In a few moments, Isaac stepped round the end of the aisle. He saw Stiles and stopped short. For a moment, he looked like he was going to pretend to be nonchalantly looking at a shelf of bananas, but then he just met Stiles’ gaze. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hi,” Stiles said. “Isaac, right?” 

“Yeah. Hi, Stiles.” 

“Why are you following me?” 

Isaac looked like he was about to deny it, but then he went quiet and looked almost embarrassed. 

“Are you dating Derek?” Isaac asked. 

Stiles was not expecting that question and his first thought was to wonder how the hell Isaac knew Derek. But Derek had mentioned his uncle going out and finding people to turn into werewolves. He’d mentioned some names of outcasts Peter had given somewhere to belong. Had Isaac been one of them? 

Even if he was one of the other werewolves Derek had mentioned, why was he here now? Why was he asking this? Stiles remembered Derek saying some stuff about the other werewolves owing a lot to Peter. Derek had been worried that they’d side with Peter if he tried a direct challenge to the alpha’s authority. Peter could have sent Isaac here to see if Derek was using Stiles in some plot against him. Why did his life have to be so complicated? 

“Why do you want to know?” Stiles asked. 

Isaac looked flustered, still fairly embarrassed. It was hard to imagine him being involved in some malicious plot with Peter. 

“He seems different lately,” Isaac said. “More relaxed. I swear I even saw him crack a smile the other day.” 

“Well if you’re curious about his social life, maybe you should ask him,” Stiles suggested. 

“I value my life,” Isaac said. “Besides, have you had a conversation with Derek?” 

“Mostly he just tells me to shut up,” Stiles said. 

Stiles hadn’t actually answered the question. Partly it was suspicion of Isaac’s motives for asking, but he also wasn’t sure what the answer would be. He didn’t think they were dating. They never met outside of Derek’s apartment and those meetings had just been a couple of occasions to watch DVDs and eat take out. The only moment that might have been considered date-like was the instance when Stiles had considered kissing Derek. Derek certainly hadn’t made any romantic gestures. Stiles suspected Derek only put up with him for his DVDs. He certainly hadn’t seen any signs of happiness on Derek’s part about him being there. 

“Why does it matter to you?” Stiles asked, deflecting the question again. 

“Derek’s… a good person,” Isaac said, with considerably more hesitation than a sentence like that should merit. “I just want to make sure that if he’s with someone, that someone knows it.” 

Stiles let out an involuntary burst of laughter, “Are you making sure I’m not going to break his heart?” 

“He’s been through a lot,” Isaac said. “His sister…” 

He trailed off, looking away. 

“Yeah, having your uncle murder your sister would take its toll on you,” Stiles said. 

“What?” Isaac asked. He gave Stiles a look of surprise that would have been hard to fake. 

“Peter didn’t tell you that?” 

“He said she died, but he said it was an accident.” 

Stiles wondered if he should just stop talking now. After all, these were Derek’s secrets to share, not his. He didn’t know Isaac and it was entirely possible that Isaac was talking to him on Peter’s orders, in order to find out how much Stiles knew. 

He settled for simply saying, “I wouldn’t trust a word Peter says.” 

“Is that just because you’re into Derek?” Isaac asked. 

“No. It’s because Peter creeps me the hell out.” 

Isaac nodded. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was agreement with Stiles’ comment or simply an acknowledgement that he had heard it and understood Stiles’ position. 

Stiles realised a few moments to late that he’d not actually denied being into Derek. He tried not to think about that. Derek was hot, there was no question of that, and Stiles would be lying to himself if he tried to deny that he’d thought about Derek. Hell, he’d jerked off thinking about what might have happened if he’d given in to his instinct to kiss him. But Derek had told him to his face that he didn’t find him attractive. Stiles knew he was several miles out of Derek’s league and he didn’t want to dwell on things that could never be. 

Stiles started moving again, pushing the cart along past the shelves, pausing to add a packet of pasta to the growing collection of food. Isaac trailed after him, basket in hand. Stiles was starting to feel uncomfortable about this whole conversation now, partly out of paranoia around Peter. Derek hadn’t trusted the other werewolves to be on his side. But it seemed that Isaac wasn’t going to disappear, so Stiles decided to do some probing of his own. 

“What do you think of Peter?” Stiles asked. 

Isaac gave a little shrug and said, “I owe him a lot.”

That was extremely non-committal. It was almost textbook vague. Stiles wondered if Isaac had been practicing cheating chess with Peter to be so cautious in an answer. 

“Do you like him?” Stiles asked. 

Isaac looked uncomfortable. That was answer enough. 

Stiles wondered if Derek’s doubts might have been misplaced in Isaac’s case. Isaac was here to see what was going on with Derek, to make sure that he was being treated well, but he wasn’t saying anything nice about Peter. Maybe Isaac would side with Derek after all if things came to a head between them. Or this could be Peter using Isaac as a pawn and thinking several moves ahead, trying to trick Derek into trusting Isaac by using Stiles. 

Buying groceries shouldn’t be this complicated. 

Stiles stopped at the bread shelves and read labels, trying to find the loaf with the highest percentage fibre content. He noted that Isaac also considered breads carefully, but he was eyeing up prices, grabbing the cheapest one on offer. He wondered what Isaac’s home situation was like at the moment, but decided against asking, though a glance at the contents of Isaac’s basket revealed contents that could all be eaten raw. Stiles wasn’t going to ask. 

“I haven’t seen you in school for a while,” Stiles said, because apparently his mouth didn’t listen to his brain. 

“Peter got us into a school across town, nearer to his place. He said it’s because it’s a better school.” 

“You don’t think so?” 

“It doesn’t have Harris as a teacher. That’s better. But I think Peter just wants us disconnected from our old lives, away from people we used to know.” 

He wanted them isolated, cut off from familiar support systems. Stiles remembered a paper he’d written once on abusive relationships. Apparently a common component was for the abuser to start by isolating the victim, stopping them from interacting with friends and family, so that they would have no one but the abuser to turn to for support. It would make sense for Peter to behave in a similar way, if he was trying to ensure the loyalty of his new pack. He would want them to trust and rely on him alone, not anyone else. 

Stiles wondered if that was a reason why Isaac was talking to him today. Was he lonely too? 

***

Stiles headed over to Derek’s place once the groceries were put away. His dad was at the station working on some paperwork, so Stiles didn’t get questioned on his way out the door. The route to Derek’s apartment was becoming familiar now. He parked the jeep outside and headed upstairs. 

Derek wasn’t waiting for him this time. He’d half-expected Derek to be lurking in his doorway to glare at him. Maybe he wasn’t in. After all, he couldn’t brood in the dark here all the time. 

Stiles rapped his knuckles against the door. 

“It’s open,” Derek called, a slight tone of surprise in his voice. 

Stiles slid the door open and walked inside, seeing Derek setting out plates and cutlery on the table by the window. For a moment, Stiles wondered if Derek had been waiting for him after all, but then he saw the surprise on Derek’s face. 

“Stiles, he said. He’d been expecting someone else. Stiles glanced at the table. Two plates. Two sets of knives and forks. Two glasses. And they were actually laid out on the table for a civilised meal. This was clearly something more significant than the shared meals on the couch in front of DVDs. Maybe Isaac was right that Derek’s change of attitude was due to romance; he’d just got the wrong person. 

“Sorry,” said Stiles. “I didn’t realise you’d have plans. I can come back some other time.” 

“It’s OK,” Derek said. “Why are you here?” 

“I came to talk to you about some stuff but it can wait. You’re clearly busy.” Stiles tried to sound calm about it. It wasn’t like he’d thought he and Derek were dating anyway. This didn’t matter. This didn’t change anything. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Derek asked, before Stiles could turn around and walk out again. 

“Isaac, actually. And the others you told me about. I bumped into Isaac at the grocery store and we talked a bit. I had a few ideas, but it’s nothing urgent.” 

Stiles turned around to try and leave again, and nearly walked into a dark-haired girl. She was standing in the doorway holding a bag that smelled of meat and spices. She glanced Stiles up and down and then leant round him to glare at Derek. 

“You should have told me,” she said, “and I’d have bought more food.” 

“Stiles is just leaving,” Derek said. 

“No he’s not,” the girl said. She grabbed Stiles by the arm and towed him round, back into the apartment. Her grip had the same unrelenting firmness to it as Derek’s. When they reached the table, the girl set down the bag and glared at Derek, saying, “Aren’t you going to get another plate?” 

Derek glared back. Stiles was left feeling confused at the resulting glare-off. His guess that this was a date seemed considerably less likely now, as he couldn’t imagine someone inviting a third person to gate-crash their date. Which raised the important question of who the girl was. She was currently matching Derek glare for glare, which Stiles couldn’t ignore as a clue. 

“Are you Derek’s sister?” he asked. 

“That’s right,” she broke her eyes away from Derek to offer Stiles her hand. “I’m Cora.” 

“Stiles.” 

“Obviously. Derek’s talked a lot about you.” 

“Derek talks?” Stiles asked. 

Cora gave Stiles a smile, “When a subject interests him enough.” 

“What’s he said about me?” Stiles asked. 

Cora pulled a couple of the chairs back from the table so that they could sit. Then she paused long enough to look back at Derek and jerk her head towards the kitchen area. Derek rolled his eyes and slumped over towards the cupboards to fetch another plate. 

“According to Derek,” Cora said, leaning in conspiratorially, although Stiles was certain Derek could hear every word, “you are irritating. You talk too much. You don’t stop fidgeting when you watch TV.” 

She had a smile on her face, as though she was announcing the fine compliments Derek had made, but every word was like a dagger in Stiles’ guts. Clearly Derek didn’t actually like him. The fact that Derek had tried to get rid of him today was proof enough of that. 

“Cora!” Derek snapped at her, but his attempt to shut her up was too late. Stiles had already heard enough. 

“He’s also expressed a desire to…” Cora started. 

“Cora!” Derek yelled. “Shut up.” 

“Look, I should just go,” Stiles said. “You’ve obviously got your family lunch and you said you only had food enough for two, so I’ll just be on my way.” 

He stood up. This time it was Derek who moved to block his way. Derek crossed the room in a few long strides. He stood there, between Stiles at the door, a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. 

“You can stay,” Derek said. 

“If you find me that irritating,” Stiles said, “I’m surprised you’d ask me to. Maybe we’re all better off if I leave and never see you again. In fact, I’ll take my DVDs back now. Save myself having to fetch them some other time.” 

Stiles’ voice came out sounding slightly hysterical. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. Everything Cora had said was stuff he’d heard before, but it hurt to be told that they’d come from Derek. Derek had been upset when he’d heard that Stiles got insulted a lot at school. He’d wanted to make Stiles feel better about that, but then he’d been saying exactly the same things behind his back. The hypocrisy of it was painful. 

Stiles needed to get out of here before he broke down completely. He looked about, trying to see the box for his Trigun DVDs. 

“No,” Derek said. 

“No you’re not going to let me have my DVDs back?” Stiles said. “So you’re just going to steal my stuff.” 

“No,” Derek said again. “I…” 

“Well screw you, Derek. Screw you.” 

Stiles started for the door stepping round Derek, but there was a crash of crockery. As Stiles jumped and turned towards the noise, Derek caught Stiles’ arm. The plate and cup he’d been holding were now just shards on the floor. 

“Don’t go,” Derek said. 

“Stiles,” Cora said, her voice soft and reassuring, “when he first met Paige, he spent about an hour complaining about how annoying and stuck up she was.” 

“Who the hell’s Paige?” Stiles asked. “And why should I care?” 

He tugged his arm against Derek’s grip, but those fingers wouldn’t ease up. They weren’t tight or painful, but unyielding. 

“Paige was his first girlfriend,” Cora said. 

“Cora, you’ve said enough,” Derek said. 

“Let me go,” Stiles said. He tugged at his arm again. “If you hate me this much, I don’t know why the hell you’d want me to stay. So get off me. I’m done being dragged around and held prisoner by you.” 

Stiles’ left arm was still trapped in Derek’s grip but his right arm was free so he swung a punch, his fist connecting with Derek’s jaw. Derek barely seemed to notice, but Stiles felt it. Pain flared in his hand from the impact. 

“Ow! Damn it! What the hell is your jaw made of? Adamantium?” 

“I don’t hate you, Stiles,” Derek said. “I don’t want you to leave. I… I like it when you’re here.” 

“If he hated you,” Cora said, “he wouldn’t be complaining about you. He’d be acting like you didn’t exist and occasionally growling if someone else mentioned you.” 

Derek shot a glower in her direction. 

“You can get out,” he said. 

“Derek, seriously,” Stiles said, “let go of my arm before I lose circulation.” 

“Please don’t go,” Derek said, but his fingers loosened their hold. Stiles could pull his arm free. He rubbed a little at the red marks that showed where Derek’s hand had gripped. If Stiles weren’t so mad at Derek he might be tempted to make a Supernatural joke about having a handprint on his body. 

“Did you say all that stuff to Cora?” Stiles asked. He folded his arms and tried to look serious and glary. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said quietly. 

“So you did call me annoying? And fidgety?” 

“Yes but… in a good way.” 

“How can there be a good way to be annoying?” Stiles demanded. 

“I don’t know. But you do it. I… I like when you’re around. Even when you talk too much or won’t stop moving when we’re watching something.” Derek said the next words as though they physically hurt him and had to be forced from his throat. “I like you, Stiles.” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say. A part of him was tempted to ask Derek which particular definition of the word like he meant, but this was probably a bad idea given how difficult it had been for Derek to say even that. A part of him still wanted to walk out, angry at Derek for the hurtful things he’d said. But another part, the part that had actually enjoyed arguing with Derek about subtitles and mocking his chess abilities, wanted to stay. 

“You’re mean,” Stiles said. 

“Yes,” Derek agreed, but Stiles was not done. 

“You’re grumpy. You have a serious anger management problem. You are completely incompetent at communication. You are hopeless at chess. Your social skills are abysmal. You think you can just grab people and throw them around, which is completely unacceptable as a way to behave, by the way. Oh, and you’re completely wrong about dubbing.” 

Stiles was glaring at Derek, who’d been nodding along in agreement to every point, until the last one. Then Derek’s expression hardened, though Stiles thought he could detect amusement in his eyes. 

“You are just uncivilised and unwilling to appreciate art in its original form, as it’s intended to be enjoyed.” 

“It’s intended to be enjoyed by people listening to what the characters are saying as well as watching, not too busy reading text to watch what’s happening on the rest of the screen.” 

“But you can’t understand the true meaning, when the translators are as concerned about making the voice synchronisation work as they are about faithfully translating the dialogue.” 

“You’re automatically assuming that a changed version is going to be worse. You are a luddite, convinced that progress is automatically wrong.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek said. 

“And that’s an ad hominem attack,” Stiles said. “You can’t refute my argument so you attack my person instead, which is a fallacy in a logical debate. And the fact I know that nicely refutes the idiot comment too, don’t you think?” Stiles grinned at Derek, who was still glowering at him, eyes burning into Stiles’. They were standing close now but Stiles didn’t actually remember moving closer. 

“You infuriating little...” Derek began. 

“You should probably just kiss him already,” Cora said, from her seat by the table. 

Derek went pale. He instantly took a step back. His sister’s words had clearly shocked him. Or maybe it was the implication behind them that was the shock. 

“It’s OK,” Stiles said quickly. “I don’t expect that. You’ve already said you don’t find me attractive.” 

“Yeah, but that’s because he’s an emotionally constipated moron,” Cora said. 

Derek turned his glower on her, snarling, “You’re supposed to be on my side.” 

“I am on your side,” she said. “That’s why I’m helping you get your head out of your ass.” 

That was the moment that Stiles decided he liked Cora. Not in the same way he liked Derek, obviously. There was no desire for licking whipped cream off body parts in his sentiments for Cora. But she had seen Derek’s utter failure at expressing himself and had decided to do something. Every mean thing she’d repeated that Derek had said had led to Derek actually admitting to an emotion other than anger. 

“Derek,” Cora continued, “you’d better tell him what you think of him or I’ll do it for you and you really don’t want that.” 

Derek made a low noise in his throat that was almost a growl. Stiles wanted to laugh, but he had a feeling that laughing at Derek now would be the worst possible thing to do. Stiles didn’t dare laugh because a thought had crept into his mind: what must have happened to a man to make him so scared of caring? He would yell and throw insults and tell someone to shut and even shove a person into physical objects, but he acted like admitting he so much as liked someone was a dangerous and terrifying thing. 

Derek said something, the words a soft whisper. 

“What?” Stiles asked. “Some of us don’t have super hearing.” 

Derek glared at Stiles and muttered, “I think you’re adorable.” 

Stiles stared for a moment. A little part of him wondered if Derek was mocking him, using the word he himself had used when he’d been Derek’s prisoner here. But he didn’t think Derek would have lied, especially not in that tone. Derek looked scared. 

“I told you I was adorable,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to punch the air. 

Derek lowered his eyebrows over his glaring eyes. 

“You don’t have to look so smug,” he said. 

“When Hottie McLeather tells me I’m adorable, I can look any damn way I like.” 

Cora burst out laughing. Derek made the growling noise again. He stepped towards Stiles, grabbing the front of Stiles’ shirt and pulling him in a little. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as Derek leaned closer, still glowering. 

“Never call me that again,” Derek said. 

Stiles decided to do what he probably should have done the night he’d brought the DVDs over. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Derek’s. 

It was a short kiss. Derek just sort of stood there, looking surprised. Stiles wondered if he’d made a mistake. 

Then Derek let go of Stiles’ shirt. He put an arm behind Stiles’ back and pulled him in again for another kiss. This time, Derek opened his mouth, inviting Stiles in. Stiles closed his eyes and just lost himself in the feeling, in Derek’s mouth against his, his body pressed against him. It was a moment Stiles had never thought would be real.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly later than usual with today's post but my excuse is that I was watching The Maze Runner, which I think is a pretty good excuse. If you haven't seen that movie yet, check it out for Dylan O'Brien awesomeness.

They stopped kissing when Cora threatened to throw food at them. Then they stood there, as awkward and uncomfortable as ever. It seemed that admitting that they liked each other wasn’t going to make this any easier. 

Cora took charge again, calling them to the table with the comment that the food was going to get cold. She’d brought Indian take-out and was now portioning out curry onto plates. 

“Do you just live on take out?” Stiles asked. 

“Mostly,” Derek answered. 

“So you’re, what, physically incapable of cooking?” 

“I made you pop tarts.” 

“Pop tarts are not cooking.” 

“They start off cold and end up hot,” Derek said. “That’s cooking.” 

“How are you not obese?” Stiles asked. 

It was Cora who answered, saying, “Werewolf metabolism.” 

Stiles thought of his arguments with his dad over healthy meals, about the effort he put into ensuring they had vegetables and the correct balance of nutrients in their dinners. He thought about all the times he’d had to turn down second helpings of things by imagining himself overweight and trying to waddle around the lacrosse field. He thought of those occasions when he’d been cautious about being seen taking his shirt off in the locker room because of all the sleek and muscled torsos he was surrounded by, afraid of only increasing the mocking from Jackson and the other jerks. 

“I hate you both right now,” Stiles said. He saw Derek tense, the subtle tightening of his grip around his fork, and he quickly added, “Just for the whole metabolism thing. And hate’s a strong word. More like jealousy.” 

“Being what we are does have its perks,” Cora said. 

“You said you wanted to talk about Isaac,” Derek said. 

Derek seriously needed to work on his subtlety, but Stiles decided to just go with his deflection without calling him out on it. 

“I bumped into him at the grocery store,” Stiles said. “I think it was by accident, but maybe he knew I would be there. He asked me about you, about whether we were dating, which I guess we are now. But he said something that made me think. He said that Peter made him move schools and I think Peter is trying to cut him off from his old social supports to make him completely dependent on him. So if anything goes wrong, Isaac has to turn to Peter. And if things go wrong with Peter, he’s got no one he can go to.” 

“What can I do about it?” Derek asked. 

“Give him someone else. Give him a pack. You’ve been thinking about this whole situation as you verses Peter, but Isaac and I’m guessing the others too just want somewhere to belong. That’s what you said to me about why he picked them. So give them somewhere, give them someone who isn’t Peter. Be nice to them. Invite them over. Hang out with them. Show them there’s someone else who they can look to for help.” 

“If I’m nice to them in order to manipulate them,” Derek said, “then I’m no different from Peter.” 

“Then be nice to them to help them. They’re young. They’re new to this whole werewolf thing. Be a mentor to them. Show them how it works. Do it because it’s the right thing to do, not because you want to get back at your uncle.” 

“I don’t do nice,” Derek said. He was prodded at the food on his plate, not looking at Stiles. 

“Obviously,” Stiles said. “And I’m not saying you should start being all smiles and flowers and cheerleading. Just let them know that you’re there for them if they need it. Give them a place they can feel safe.” 

“I don’t know. I’m not good with people.” 

Cora rolled her eyes. 

“Just give it a try,” Stiles said. “If you can put up with me for an evening, I’m sure you can put up with them.” 

“You’re very pushy,” Derek said. 

“Only when I’m right.” 

Derek glared at Stiles over his lunch. He turned to Cora. 

“What do you think?” he asked. 

She shrugged, “It could work. It certainly can’t hurt to give those guys someone other than Peter to learn about werewolves from. Just start small. Invite them over for a movie or something.” 

“I’m not sure we’d all be able to watch it at once,” Derek said, glancing over to where his laptop lay on the coffee table. 

“Now you’re just making excuses,” Cora said. “You know perfectly well that you’re capable of affording a TV.” 

“Alright,” Derek said. “I’ll try it. Once. Just to see how it goes. But Peter won’t like it.” 

“Peter can’t complain about a movie night,” Cora said. There was tension on her face though as she said it, and on Derek’s. They’d made their decision, agreeing with Stiles’ plan, but Stiles thought Derek’s reluctance was about more than social anxiety. He was afraid of how Peter would react to this. 

***

When Stiles got home, his dad was there, still working. Papers were spread out across the dining room table. Stiles hoped to sneak in quietly, but there was no hope of that. 

“Stiles,” his dad called, “the rule about you telling me when you go out still applies.” 

Stiles headed through to the dining room. There was something that needed to be said, now, because otherwise his dad would be furious later. Besides, he was still feeling slightly giddy over the idea that Derek was attracted to him, that he actually liked him, and he wanted to share this triumph with someone. 

“You know how I told you that if I had a boyfriend, I would have told you,” Stiles said. 

“Yes,” his dad said, cautiously. 

“Well, I think I have a boyfriend.” 

“You think?” 

“We didn’t discuss labels or anything, but we kissed and he likes me and he says I’m adorable and I used the word dating and he didn’t even blink at it so I think we’re an item but he has some major issues with social anxiety and just, you know, talking to people, so I’m not going to push on this, but, yeah, he says he likes me.” Stiles said this all in one, rapid stream of words, a grin spreading onto his face as he spoke. 

His dad’s face fell into an indulgent smile as he listened. 

“So,” his dad said, “do I get to meet him?” 

“God no! Did you not hear me about the social anxiety thing? If I tried to introduce him to my gun-wielding father, I think it would scare him into a dark hole and he wouldn’t see daylight for a year.” 

“I’m not that scary.” 

“Just because I’m immune to your terrors doesn’t mean everyone else is. No way I’m letting him meet you until I’ve given him like a decade to prepare for the experience. Now, I need to go call Scott.” 

Stiles started to leave, but his eyes drifted across the papers and things scattered across the table. There were photographs amid the chaos, one of which showed a face, familiar despite it being upside down. Stiles forgot about Scott for the moment and focused instead on what his dad was working on, in particular the face staring up from that photograph. 

“Why have you got a picture of Peter Hale?” Stiles asked. 

“How did you recognise him?” his dad asked. The indulgent smile vanished at once into a look of suspicion and Stiles remembered that, as far as his dad was concerned, Stiles had never even made it inside Peter’s club, let alone met him. 

“His photo was attached to an article about the new club,” Stiles said. His dad didn’t look like he believed him, but Stiles pressed on anyway, “Why have you got his picture?” 

“I’m still looking into that club,” his dad said. “I still think his behaviour that weekend was suspicious and I’m trying to find out what else might be going on there.” 

“Any theories?” 

“There are a lot of things I’ve ruled out. I’m pretty certain it’s not people trafficking. Doesn’t look like prostitution. If it’s drugs, he’s being extremely discrete about it. There’s not enough storage space for it to be distribution of stolen goods.” 

So his dad wasn’t anywhere near secret werewolf pack as a theory for explaining Peter’s strangeness. That was probably good. Stiles didn’t want his dad going head to head against Peter, but there were still things that maybe a police officer could help with. 

“What about his niece?” Stiles asked. “The one who was murdered.” 

His dad looked at him sternly, “Have you been breaking into my case files again?” 

“You really don’t want me to answer that question,” Stiles said, because the answer was no. His dad really wouldn’t be happy if he knew the real reason Stiles had this information. 

His dad sighed, “The coroner’s report found claw marks and animal hairs. It looks like her death was caused by a large animal. Probably a mountain lion.” 

“So Peter’s not a suspect?” 

“There are no suspects. It was an animal attack not a murder.” 

And the police didn’t know that Peter could turn into an animal at will. For a moment, Stiles considered telling his dad the truth. But his deal with Peter involved secrecy. Besides, his dad probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. 

Stiles started to turn away, but then another thought occurred. 

“What happened to Isaac Lahey’s dad?” Stiles asked. 

His dad’s suspicious expression deepened, “Why would you think about that now?”

“Because I bumped into Isaac at the store this morning and it occurred to me that there had been all those rumours about something happening to his dad but that I didn’t know the truth. What happened with him?” 

“He was killed,” Stiles’ dad said. “Probably another animal attack.” 

“Probably?” 

“The injuries were consistent with claw and teeth marks. Besides, the only real suspect with any motive was Isaac and he had an alibi.” 

“Did Peter Hale have an alibi?” Stiles asked. 

“Why would Peter Hale be a suspect for the death of Isaac’s father? Assuming it even was a murder, because all the signs point to an animal attack.” 

“But what if he was just making it look like an animal?” Stiles said. “I mean, I saw these shoes on the internet that have animal foot designs on the soles so that when you want it looks like animal prints. I’m not saying that’s what he used, but couldn’t someone who knew animals make the cuts look like they were done by an animal? To throw off suspicion.” 

“It’s possible, but that comes back to the original question: why would Peter Hale be a suspect in the death of Isaac’s father?” 

Stiles couldn’t easily say it was because Peter was a werewolf trying to secure his control of his pack by killing off the support structures of its members. 

“Who’s looking after Isaac now?” Stiles asked. 

“He didn’t have any other relatives, so he asked for emancipation. He was deemed capable of supporting himself.” 

“So he’s living alone?” Stiles said. “Then you might want to look into who got him into his new school.” 

His dad’s eyes narrowed, “What do you know about all this?” 

“I know that there are at least two people who think that Peter Hale killed Laura but they don’t have any evidence. And I know that Peter creeps the hell out of me.” 

“So you have met him. Stiles, what really happened that night you went to the club?” 

“Some stuff I am never going to tell you,” Stiles said. He started to leave but hesitated and looked back, adding, “Dad, be careful about Peter. He’s dangerous. Really dangerous.” 

“I’m the one who’s supposed to warn you about dangerous people,” his dad said. Stiles just shrugged and headed off to tell Scott about what had happened at Derek’s. 

***

On Sunday, Stiles was working his way through a pile of homework, including a monstrosity of a worksheet for Harris. He wondered what had happened to the concept of weekends being for relaxing and fun and for recuperating in preparation for another week of torture at school. His dad got to do the relaxing thing. He was downstairs watching a football game and occasionally yelling at the TV screen. 

Stiles turned over the page of the worksheet, seeing yet another long list of questions, and wondered if Harris was secretly the devil. He was just getting started on the first one when he heard the doorbell. He ignored it. Dad could deal with that. Right now, Stiles had to deal with molecular weight calculations. 

“Stiles, a friend’s here for you,” his dad called. 

Stiles should be glad for a break from this, but he had to get good marks and Harris leapt on any excuse to mark him down, so he really needed to focus on his homework. Still, he got to his feet and headed downstairs, wondering who the hell it could be. If it was Scott, his dad would have just sent him straight up. 

Standing on the doorstep, under the suspicious gaze of Stiles’ dad, was Cora. 

“Hi,” Stiles said, letting show his surprise. 

“He’s going for your plan,” she said, “and I think he’s going to need your help.” 

“My help?” 

“Moral support. Before he starts panicking about having to talk to people.” 

“Can’t he just stick a movie on and then go and lurk in a dark corner?” Stiles suggested. 

“No. This was your idea. You’re coming to help.” 

“My idea didn’t involve my, well, involvement. Besides, I’m not even part of the,” he realised his dad was still looking and changed the next word, “group. Plus I’ve got a stack of homework.” 

“Please, Stiles. He needs you.” 

When she put it that way, it was hard for Stiles to say no. He knew this had to be difficult for Derek. He really did suck at talking to people and now he was going to be socialising with people who were allied to the guy who’d murdered his sister. 

“Fine,” Stiles said. “But I’m bringing my homework with me so don’t expect me to talk to anyone.” He glanced at his dad, “I’m assuming it’s OK to go out.” 

“If you’re serious about getting your homework done,” his dad said, “you can go. It sounds like it’s for a good cause.” 

Stiles headed back upstairs to get his books and stuff, leaving the other two standing down by the door. He was about halfway up the stairs when he heard his dad say, “I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

“It’s Cora. Cora Hale.” 

Stiles tripped on the stairs, thumping his knee against one of the steps. If his dad noticed, he didn’t react. Probably he was too distracted by the revelation of Cora’s last name. 

“Hale?” Stiles’ dad said. “And how long have you known Stiles?” 

Stiles reached the top of the stairs but he strained his ears, trying to hear the rest of the conversation, even as he shoved books and papers and laptop into his bag. 

“Since yesterday,” he heard Cora answer, “but my brother talks about him a lot, so it feels like longer.” 

Stiles grabbed some pens from his desk and threw them into his bag. He needed to get downstairs and stop this conversation before his dad started asking questions Stiles really didn’t want him to hear answers to. 

“Your brother,” his dad said. “That would be Derek, right?” 

“That’s right,” Cora answered, as Stiles pounded down the stairs, bag on his back. 

“Ready,” Stiles said, stepping slightly between his dad and Cora. She smiled at him. They started for the door together. 

“Remember, it’s a school night,” Stiles’ dad said. “Don’t be back late. And if I call to check up, that homework had better be either done or being done.” 

“Got it.” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Stiles called over his shoulder, and then he hurried out of the house after Cora. 

She’d borrowed Derek’s sleek car. Stiles slid into the passenger seat because there was no way he was riding in his battered old jeep when he could be riding in this. As he sat there, he wondered what was going through his dad’s mind right now. Stiles almost regretted talking to his dad about Peter. 

His dad wasn’t dumb. Right now, he’d probably worked out that Derek was the mysterious new boyfriend. He knew that Stiles had had something to do with Peter Hale and that the guy Stiles had been hanging around with was somehow involved in his kidnapping. If he wasn’t careful, his dad would start dragging Derek in for questioning. 

“You OK?” Cora asked. 

“Yeah. Just wondering how I’m going to explain stuff to my dad.” 

“What’s to explain?” Cora asked. “You’re going to your boyfriend’s place to hang out with some of his friends.” 

“It’s not just today though. It’s everything. It’s the fact I got kidnapped going to your uncle’s club, the fact I haven’t told him what really happened then, the fact that I had duct tape on me the other day after seeing Derek.” He caught Cora’s confused look. “Don’t ask. My dad’s the sheriff and he’s had a couple of dead bodies cross his desk that are connected to your family: your sister and Isaac’s dad. I can’t exactly go up to my dad and say, ‘Yeah, Peter Hale is actually a werewolf and that’s why the deaths look like animal attacks,’ but if I don’t say anything, my dad will keep digging and that’s going to bring him back to Peter. Would Peter kill my dad?” 

Cora didn’t answer at once. That pause was enough to add fuel to Stiles’ fears. If that question yielded a simple denial, she wouldn’t have hesitated. 

“If he thinks it will help him,” Cora said quietly, “and if he thinks he can get away with it.” 

“I won’t let him hurt my dad.” 

“Stiles, Peter doesn’t kill randomly. He’s careful. He thinks things through. He plans them out. Your dad is a public official in law enforcement; killing him would be an enormous risk. I don’t think Peter would chance it. Not unless he was to gain something huge by it and I don’t think that’s the case.” 

Stiles just wished she sounded a little more confident. Stiles kept thinking back to the chess game. Peter had played to win, not caring how many pawns got sacrificed. Stiles wondered if he was now a pawn in Peter’s game. 

But thinking about Peter wasn’t helping anyone right now, so Stiles jumped topics. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asked. 

“Derek’s invited the pack round for food and a movie,” she said. “I think he liked the idea of socialising where he has an excuse not to actually talk to anyone.” 

“And he wants me there because he thinks I’ll fill the silence?” 

“He doesn’t actually know you’re coming.” 

Stiles glared at her, “I thought you said he wanted me here.” 

“No, I said he would need you. He’s not very good at asking for what he needs.” 

Stiles looked across at Cora. She was staring ahead at the road. She seemed… normal. Stiles hadn’t known Derek all that long, not really, but all their interactions told him that there was something not right. Derek had to be bullied by his sister into admitting that he liked Stiles. He had been so sweet with those anonymous gifts but then he could barely speak two words together when they were alone in his apartment. His first instinct was to react physically, grabbing hold of Stiles, rather than speaking. 

“What happened to him?” Stiles asked. 

Cora tightened her grip on the steering wheel. 

“A lot.” 

“Look, I want to help him but it’s obvious he’s never going to talk to me about this stuff. I thought maybe it was because of his sister dying, but you lost her too and you seem to be handling it OK, and I know that people react to grief differently but it just feels like there’s something more going on.” 

Stiles trailed off. He knew this was deeply personal stuff he was asking about. He just felt like Derek’s psyche was some dark wilderness and he was hoping for a map, or at least a compass, to help navigate through the confusion. 

“Laura was the last straw,” Cora said quietly. “He’s lost… a lot. We both have. His first girlfriend died. Our family were killed and he took that incredibly hard, barely spoke to anyone for two months after that. Laura tried to get him help but he resisted her every step of the way, said he didn’t deserve it. He kind of shut himself off after that. Barely talked to anyone outside the family. He stopped going out; he’d been seeing someone before the fire but he never saw them again afterwards. Never brought friends round. Just tried to cut himself off from the world. He’s afraid to let anyone else in. That’s why I make it a point to see him a couple of times a week, just to make sure he’s spoken to somebody.” 

Stiles didn’t know what to say to all this. It made sense of everything he’d seen. Derek had been too scared to admit to liking Stiles, too scared to acknowledge that he wanted Stiles to come round, because he’d lost almost everyone he’d ever cared about. 

“Do you know the really messed up thing,” Cora said.

“What?” 

“Peter. He drops in on Derek all the time too, and makes him come out to help out at the club. He’s even tried to set Derek up on dates. Even after everything he’s done, I think Peter worries about Derek’s mental health as much as I do.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek's age in canon seems to be a variable thing, so I've just gone with what seems to make sense.

Scott thought nothing of getting a call from the Stilinski number, so he answered his phone with a cheerful, “Hey, Stiles. 

“Actually, this is his father,” said the voice at the other end. 

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, because he couldn’t imagine why Stiles’ dad would be calling him if there wasn’t something wrong. 

“Is my son dating Derek Hale?” 

Scott wasn’t sure how much Stiles had told his dad, so he wasn’t sure how much he should say. He didn’t want to be the guy who went behind his best friend’s back and ratted him out to his father. But presumably the sheriff wouldn’t be asking that question unless he already had a good idea of the answer. 

“Maybe you should talk to Stiles,” Scott said. 

“So that’s a yes,” the sheriff said. 

“They’ve been hanging out.” 

“He’s twenty three years old! Stiles is seventeen.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty certain they haven’t had sex,” Scott said. Stiles had been so excited about just kissing Derek that Scott thought he’d hire skywriters to tell the world if he actually did the deed with Derek. 

“Whether they’ve done anything illegal,” the sheriff said, “is not the point.” 

Scott really didn’t want to get Stiles in trouble and he couldn’t explain about werewolves, so he was stuck for what to say. He couldn’t even tell the sheriff not to worry because _he_ was worried. He was confident that Derek genuinely liked Stiles, but that didn’t mean that a relationship between them was a sensible thing. Derek was still potentially dangerous. 

“What do you think Derek’s intentions are?” the sheriff asked. 

It was such an old-fashioned way of phrasing it that Scott was caught a little off-guard. 

“I don’t know,” Scott said. “He likes Stiles but beyond that I’ve no idea. I don’t trust him, but I don’t think he’d hurt Stiles.” 

There was a pause at the other end of the phone line, then the sheriff asked, “What about his uncle? Peter Hale.” 

Scott hadn’t been expecting that question and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He couldn’t tell the sheriff that Peter Hale was a monster who’d turned him into a werewolf and had kidnapped Stiles without provocation. He couldn’t say much of anything because of the deal he’d made with Peter. He’d made that deal for Stiles’ life and Stiles’ life would be forfeit if Scott broke any part of it. Part of the deal was secrecy. He couldn’t tell the sheriff the truth without risking Stiles’ life. 

“Scott?” the sheriff prompted. 

“He’s a monster,” Scott said quietly. 

There was a long pause. When the sheriff spoke again, his voice was strained and slow, like he was considering every single word before he uttered them. 

“Scott, I’m going to ask you a question. I don’t want you to think of this as the sheriff asking, but as the father of your best friend, someone who only ever wants what’s best for Stiles. Do you understand?” 

“Yeah,” Scott said, though he was apprehensive of the question and more than a little worried about what answer he might have to give. 

“Did Peter Hale rape Stiles?” 

“What?” the question was so unexpected that Scott almost laughed. “No. Why would you even think that?” 

“I don’t know what to think. I’ve been trying to work out why Stiles is hiding things from me, why you’re both lying about what happened the night he went to Hale’s club. I’ve been trying to figure out what could possibly have happened to him that he would feel he couldn’t talk to me about it.” 

“Well it wasn’t that,” Scott said. 

There was another pause. When the sheriff spoke next, some of the strain had gone out of his voice, but he still sounded tense, sad. 

“I always thought Stiles could trust me. I always thought that if he got in trouble, he’d know he could come to me, that he could tell me anything. But now… I know he’s hiding things from me. Sometimes, I see something in his face, like he’s scared of something, scared to tell me the truth. There’s not a thing in the world he could say that would make me stop loving him but I can’t seem to get him to open up anymore and I don’t know why.” 

Scott didn’t know what to say to that. This wasn’t a conversation he felt prepared to have. He knew what was going on with Stiles and the guilt gnawed away at him that he couldn’t set the sheriff’s mind at ease either. 

“Stiles loves you,” Scott said, “and he knows you love him. I don’t think that’ll ever be a doubt for him.” 

“Then why won’t he talk to me anymore?” 

Scott knew the answer to that. Stiles was afraid of being found in the woods, another body covered in teeth marks and claw wounds. More than that, he was afraid of his dad being found like that. But Scott couldn’t say that to the sheriff without breaking his deal with Peter, without putting Stiles in danger of exactly that. He wanted to just hang up the phone, to cut short this conversation, but he had to say something to answer that question. 

He wished Stiles had just stayed away from Derek. They could have simply cut any ties with the Hales and the incident at the club could be fading into a memory. But Stiles had to keep going back to Derek, had to keep the events close to the surface for all of them. 

“Scott?” the sheriff prompted again. It must be pretty obvious to him that Scott knew a hell of a lot more than he did about what was going on with Stiles. 

“Stiles has got a good reason for not telling you,” Scott said. 

“And that reason is?” 

“The same reason I can’t tell you either. But Stiles… he loves you and he does trust you. And I don’t think Derek would hurt him.” 

“But Peter Hale might?” 

That was another question Scott couldn’t answer. Any answer he might give could be considered breaking the deal he’d made. Scott wished he could do what they did in legal dramas and claim the right not to answer any questions, but he wasn’t just dealing with the sheriff. He was dealing with Stiles’ dad. 

It seemed that Scott's silence was all the answer the sheriff needed. 

“It goes for you too, Scott,” the sheriff said. “You can talk to me. Whatever is going on, whatever trouble you two are in, you can tell me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. And he hung up, before he made any bigger problems for himself. 

***

Derek was clearly surprised when Stiles showed up at his door, following in Cora’s wake. Stiles thought it was a good surprised, but it was hard to tell, especially when Derek greeted him with, “What are you doing here?” 

“Apparently kidnapping runs in your family,” Stiles said, and gestured towards Cora. 

Derek glared at her but she looked utterly unrepentant. 

As soon as Stiles walked into Derek’s apartment, he could see the difference. Derek had bought a TV and it was now set up in the middle of the floor in front of the couch. He’d also acquired a couple of brightly coloured beanbags, which were doing a little to alleviate the feel of gloom that filled the rest of the loft. It occurred to Stiles that Derek must have quite a lot of disposable income to be able to just go and buy a new TV at the drop of a hat. It looked like a good model too and large enough that Stiles would have to stretched his arms wide if he were to try and touch either side of the screen. 

“I’ve got homework I need to do,” Stiles said, “so I’ll mostly just be staying out of the way and letting you do the bonding thing.” 

“Stiles,” Derek said, “Uh… thanks.” 

“I haven’t done anything yet.” If just walking through a door is enough for Derek to think he deserved thanks then Cora was right that Derek had some screwed up perspectives about social interactions. 

Stiles went over to the big table by the window so that he’d get enough light and he started pulling books and stuff out of his bag. Then he hesitated, realising that he was doing all this without invitation and that was really rude. 

“Am I OK to work here?” he asked. “You don’t need the table for food or anything?” 

Derek shook his head. “No, we’ll… I guess we’ll be round the couch.” 

“I see you’ve planned this out in intricate detail,” Stiles said. Derek glared. “What? No ‘shut up, Stiles’? I must be losing my touch.” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, but with a trace of a smile on his lips. Stiles considered that a victory. He grinned and got on with pulling out his chemistry stuff. He settled down to continue his work. 

At least, that was the intention. It was rather difficult to concentrate with Derek fussing. He would get glasses out of the cupboards and then sort of stare at them, as though not sure what they were there for. He got some juice out of the fridge then changed his mind and put it back. He pulled out some packets of pre-made popcorn and some bowls, then hesitated about opening the packets. In the end, he carried packets and bowls over to the coffee table and spent about two minutes arranging them even though there was nothing to arrange. It would have been funny if it weren’t for the fact that it proved just how bad Derek was at anything involving socialising. His awkwardness at something that should be simple was almost heart-breaking. 

Stiles abandoned his worksheet for a minute and crossed the room. He caught Derek’s hand to stop him rearranging the popcorn anymore. Derek just looked at him and Stiles could see the fear in his eyes. 

“Relax,” Stiles said. He pulled Derek away from the coffee table and then placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Just remember, you are bigger and tougher and scarier than any of them. You have nothing to be scared of. In fact, they’re probably terrified of being here with you.” 

That shouldn’t have been a comforting thing to say but it seemed to work. Derek gave Stiles a little smile, while he traced his thumb up and down over Stiles’ wrist. It was a gentle, soft touch and Stiles wasn’t sure Derek was even aware he was doing it. Stiles didn’t want him to stop, but he was also aware that they were just standing there and that he had homework to do. 

Stiles was just wondering if he should say something when Derek sort of jerked away from him. Stiles was left feeling a little hurt and confused, but Derek turned towards the door. He must have heard someone approach. He headed over that way while Stiles returned to his homework pile. Derek opened the door about half a second after the tentative knock. 

Isaac was standing there, looking about as terrified as Derek clearly was. 

“Hi,” Isaac said. “You said we had to come?” 

He looked like he’d been summoned to the inquisition or something. Stiles wondered if Derek had managed to screw up the invitation, but decided it was wiser not to ask. Derek stepped aside and waved Isaac inside. Isaac gave a little start of surprise when he saw Stiles there. Stiles gave a wave and pretended to be focused on his chemistry. 

“Do you want a drink?” Cora asked. At least one of them apparently remembered how to be sociable. Isaac was still looking like a startled deer. 

“OK,” he said. His eyes were flickering around the room, taking in the popcorn bowls, Stiles, the glasses laid out. It didn’t seem to be doing anything to relax him. His eyes kept coming back to Stiles, who was failing to even read the next question on his worksheet. 

“Sit,” Derek said, and jerked a hand towards the couch. Isaac jumped and quickly moved to sit. 

“Polite people ask a guest if they’d like to sit,” Stiles said. 

“Sorry,” Derek said, then to Isaac, “Would you like to sit down?” 

“Thanks,” Isaac said. 

“I should have written you some rules,” Stiles said. “First one would be, stop looking like you’re planning on ripping your guests limb from limb just for daring to breathe in your direction.” 

“Can I rip you limb from limb?” Derek asked, but he seemed to be a little more an ease about it. Apparently issuing death threats brought him back into his comfort zone. Cora gave Stiles a little smile from behind Derek’s back. 

Derek moved towards the door again and there was another knock. Derek opened it up and Stiles saw the guy who’d been the bouncer at the club, the guy he’d dubbed Wall Of Muscle. So Stiles might have been mistaken when he’d said Derek would be bigger and tougher than the other werewolves. Derek stepped aside and waved the guy in, and only then did Stiles see that there was someone else with him, a blond knock-out dressed precisely to show off her phenomenal assets. Even when they were inside, the big guy positioned himself between the girl and Derek, as though acting as her shield. 

“So,” she said, “what’s with the summons?” 

“I have DVDs,” Derek said. 

She and the big guy looked across at the couch, where Isaac was sitting, nervously holding the glass of juice Cora had given him. There was a selection of DVDs waited next to the TV, ready to be chosen. 

“You ordered us here to watch DVDs?” the big guy asked. 

“Invited,” Derek said. 

“What Derek is failing to say,” Stiles said, “is that he invited you all here because he wants to build the bonds of friendship within the pack. He asked you round for an afternoon of having fun and getting to know each other better, and the first thing you need to know about Derek is that he flunked social skills.” 

“And what are you doing here?” the big guy asked Stiles. 

“Homework. And apparently translating for Derek.” 

“Please have a seat,” Derek said. The please sounded like it was forced out, but at least it was an invitation not an order this time. It seemed Derek was learning. 

The two werewolves walked over to the couch. Isaac shifted over so that they could sit side-by-side. They all sat stiffly, like they were expecting to be interrogated or something. Cora carried over a collection of glasses and set them on the coffee table. 

“Pick a movie,” she said, grabbing the DVD pile and handing it to the other girl, since she was closest. Then she went back to the kitchen area for the juice and soda. The three werewolves on the couch gave each other nervous glances and then started quietly discussing which movie they wanted to watch. They looked like they expected to be graded on their choice. 

Stiles remembered his conversation with Isaac in the store and how he’d worried and second-guessed himself about it being a trap. He’d been afraid that Peter might be setting him up. He’d only met Peter a handful of times and he’d been paranoid about getting tricked. These three had clearly spent a lot more time around Peter than he had and now they were expecting more of the same from Derek. 

It was Isaac who spoke up, naming the selection as a generic action movie that had come out recently. Derek nodded and stuck it in the machine to start playing. 

Cora and Derek settled on beanbags, though Isaac tried to offer Derek a seat on the couch. Stiles bowed his head over his homework and tried not to be distracted by the movie. No one said anything. Stiles would have liked to believe that everyone was too busy watching the film, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He wondered if he’d screwed up in suggesting this to Derek. They weren’t going to have much luck bonding if they were all scared to be in the same room as Derek. 

Stiles worked his way down the worksheet, finally getting to the last question. He closed his books with sheer joy at being down with this thing, even though he still had math to finish. Over on the couch, Isaac glanced his way. 

“Harris?” he asked. 

“Yeah, and he hates my guts so I’ve got to do a perfect job or else.” 

“He hates everyone’s guts,” the girl said. Stiles looked over at her, surprised, wondering how the hell she would know Harris to make that judgement. When it hit him, he realised why he hadn’t recognised her. She was Erica Reyes, the girl from Beacon Hills High who’d had all the seizures. It seemed being a werewolf suited her because she now looked nothing like the shy, sick girl who’d lurked in the back of classes and tried to be invisible. He looked closer at the big guy too, and knew him as Boyd, a guy who’d been the year above him at school. They’d all been at the same school as him before Peter had intervened and changed them into werewolves. Stiles hadn’t really known any of them, but he guessed that was Peter’s point. He’d picked the outcasts, the ones who’d long for someone to be on their side. And then he’d taken them away from the school and thrown them in with strangers. 

Stiles tried to focus on his math, while the movie continued. Every now and then, he’d glance across towards the little group by the couch. They seemed a bit more relaxed now. Erica was leaning against Boyd’s arm and he had a hand on her leg. Of them, Derek was the one who looked most tense and he kept his eyes locked on the TV screen. His position on the beanbag meant that the three guests were outside his field of vision. Stiles wondered if he was trying to subconsciously convince them that he trusted them, or if he just wanted to pretend that they weren’t there. 

Stiles finished up his math just before the movie ended and he turned in his seat so he could watch. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be much plot to catch up on and he just got to watch quite a lot of things blowing up and the hero making out with a leather-clad love interest, which made Erica scoff and declare, “She could do better.” 

“Uh huh,” Cora agreed. 

As the credits started, Derek declared that he was going to get the food and that they should pick the next movie. He disappeared so fast that Stiles wondered if werewolf superspeed had kicked in. Derek had probably planned this so that he’d have an excuse to get away from the group for a while. 

Isaac, Erica and Boyd all seemed to relax a little once Derek was gone, the door firmly shut behind him, but they waited a while before starting to talk. 

“Why did he invite us here?” Erica asked. She addressed the question at Cora. 

“A pack is supposed to be close,” she said, “like family. This one isn’t. Derek’s is trying to fix it.” 

“If this is about the whole pack,” Boyd asked, suspicion in his tone, “then where’s Peter?” 

It was Stiles who answered, saying, “Nobody likes Peter.” 

Isaac gave a nervous, little laugh. Nobody disagreed with him but Stiles suspected none of them would have dared say it. Stiles wasn’t part of the pack and that gave him freedom to say things they couldn’t. That they were afraid to. 

His homework now done, Stiles packed away his books and went to join the others, sitting down on the beanbag Derek had recently deserted. The fabric still held his warmth and Stiles leaned into it like an embrace. 

“How’s coach?” Isaac asked, breaking the awkward silence. 

“Same as ever,” Stiles said. They spent a few minutes trading anecdotes about coach and his strange habits, which got chuckles from Erica and Boyd, and looked of confusion and horror from Cora. Coach was a strange guy and could be a bit intimidating to those who didn’t know him, but Stiles would take him over Harris any day. 

Stiles knew when Derek was going to walk in shortly before he did. The three on the couch suddenly went quiet and tense. Less than a minute later, Derek threw the door open and entered, carrying a bunch of pizza boxes carefully balanced on one arm. Stiles got up to help him with the boxes, while Isaac cleared a little space on the coffee table. Cora played hostess and topped up everyone’s drinks, but the slight relaxation of earlier had vanished. 

When they settled again, putting on a DVD for an old spy thriller, Stiles sat down on the beanbag. Derek hesitated, even though Stiles had deliberately sat so that there would be room for Derek too. It was only when Stiles met Derek’s eye and then nodded to the space beside him that Derek moved. He sat down against the beanbag and then shuffled awkwardly, trying to get the beans to settle into a comfortable shape. Somehow the movement in the bag made Stiles shift sideways into Derek’s side. Derek tensed a little, but Stiles said nothing, just sat there and let his shoulder rest against Derek’s, feeling the werewolf’s warmth. 

He shifted his arm, resting his hand over Derek’s. Derek turned his hand beneath his and let their fingers link together. Stiles gave a slight squeeze, reassurance, a reminder that Derek wasn’t alone in this. 

Stiles could actually pay attention to this movie, which led to him making comments about the appalling Russian accents of the enemy spies. 

“And why would they be speaking English anyway?” he asked. 

“Maybe they know how you feel about subtitles,” Derek said, turning to look at Stiles with a smile. 

“Do you mind flirting after the movie’s finished?” Erica asked. It was the closest any of the others had come to telling Derek off for something, which Stiles thought was a huge victory. Even Derek seemed to be happy about it, turning his attention back to the screen. 

It was all going well, so it was inevitable that something would happen to bring everything crashing down. Derek suddenly tensed up beside Stiles. He sat up straighter and turned towards the door. Stiles turned too, curious, and saw the three on the couch look tense as well, almost scared. Stiles was expecting it when the door opened and Peter walked in. 

“I assume my invitation got lost,” Peter said, letting his eyes drift slowly over the scene. 

“I didn’t invite you,” Derek said. 

“But it’s a pack gathering,” Peter said. “And I’m pack.” 

He walked across the room. Cora and Derek were on their feet. Peter reached out and Isaac flinched away, but Peter just bent down over the coffee table and grabbed a slice of pizza. Peter turned an unfriendly smile on the werewolves he’d turned. 

“I trust my nephew is being hospitable.” 

“He knows where to buy good pizza,” Boyd said. It was a good answer. It sounded positive but it could in no way be construed as Boyd throwing in his allegiance with Derek. 

They were all scared of him. There were five other werewolves in this room, but every single one of them was terrified of Peter. Derek had told Stiles about alphas having more power than other werewolves, but somehow this was what made it sink home for him. As much as he’d known Peter was dangerous, this was what made him really feel it. 

Peter took a small bite of the pizza and chewed cheerfully. Everyone was staring at him. The movie was still playing but everyone seemed to have forgotten it, waiting to see how Peter would react. He chewed a little more and then swallowed down the mouthful of pizza, giving an appreciative nod, as though savouring a rare steak. 

“Perhaps I should throw a pizza party for the pack,” Peter said. 

“I wouldn’t come,” Derek said. 

“Oh surely you wouldn’t decline my hospitality. Well perhaps I could convince you by extending the invitation out to your little friend.” 

Derek froze. 

Stiles couldn’t stop Peter, couldn’t fight him, couldn’t stand up to him in any way that meant a damn. He wouldn’t be able to help Derek if Derek decided to fight. All he could do was try to defuse a horrible situation before it came to blood. 

He glanced down at his crotch, then back to Peter and said, “Not so little.” 

Peter stared at him for a second, and then gave a short laugh, what looked like a genuine smile on his face. 

“Well, I shall have to take your word for that, Stiles,” Peter said. “I wouldn’t want my dear nephew getting jealous.” He smiled at Derek. “I shall leave you to your entertaining.” 

He took another bite of the pizza slice in his hand and then walked out the door, shutting it behind him. 

The room remained a frozen tableau. Everyone’s eyes were still fixed on the door. Stiles stood up and moved to Derek’s side, sliding his hand into Derek’s again. Derek clutched Stiles’ fingers tightly enough to be painful, but Stiles wasn’t going to tell him to stop. 

Eventually, a little of the tension sagged out of the room and Stiles guessed that Peter had got far enough away that the werewolves couldn’t hear him anymore. Still, the ghost of his presence lingered in the fear that pervaded this place. 

“Maybe someone should just shoot him in the head,” Stiles said. He was met with nervous, terrified laughter from the werewolves, laughing simply because they didn’t have a sane response for his suggestion.


	15. Chapter 15

Apparently there was no getting away from werewolves now. They had lacrosse practice after school on Monday and it was all going much as usual until Scott took a ball to the head and got yelled at by Coach for not paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the stands, where some of the student body had come out to watch the practice. Stiles expected him to be distracted by Allison and turned to look, ready to roll his eyes. 

But it was Isaac standing there, watching the team. Watching Stiles. Stiles met his gaze even over the distance, and wondered what the hell Isaac was doing here. 

Then a ball hit the side of his helmet and he had to deal with Coach yelling at him now to stay focused. Stiles tried to pay attention for the rest of practice, but his thoughts kept drifting to Isaac even when his eyes didn’t. Why had he come here? 

Clearly Stiles wasn't the only one wondering that. At the end of practice, Coach noticed him standing there. Coach reached Isaac before Stiles and Scott did. 

“Lahey!” 

“Hi, Coach.” 

“You had enough with that posh new school of yours and decided to come back?” 

“Afraid not, Coach.” 

“What’s it like with all those rich brats?” 

“Terrible, Coach. They don’t even have a lacrosse team.” 

Coach made a disgusted noise. 

“It’s terrible. What the hell are they teaching you kids if they’re not teaching you lacrosse?” 

“Algebra.” 

“Algebra? Bah! Who needs algebra? They should be teaching you something useful.” 

“Like how to get a ball in a net?” Stiles asked, coming to stand beside Coach. 

“Exactly!” Coach said, with all his usual enthusiasm. Then he waved in the general direction of the locker room, “Go on. Get yourselves cleaned up.” 

He headed off with the others, but Stiles lingered with Isaac. Scott was there too, still giving Isaac a shocked look. 

“You,” Scott started, then stopped. 

“Hi, Scott,” Isaac said. “Long time.” 

“You’re... when did you?” Scott trailed off again. This time, he glanced towards the stands, which were rapidly emptying. 

“About the same time I left this school,” Isaac answered. “Peter got me into a different school across town after he... you know.” 

“You’re one of Peter’s,” Scott said. 

“Yeah. I figured you knew.” Isaac glanced at Stiles. Now it was Scott’s turn to glare at Stiles. After everything Stiles had said about keeping secrets, he squirmed a little under that glare. 

“I only found out on Saturday,” Stiles said. 

“You called me on Saturday. You spent almost an hour talking about Derek and you didn’t think to mention this? What else don’t I know?” 

Stiles glanced at Isaac, but he wasn’t really waiting for permission. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. 

“Erica and Boyd,” he said. “Peter turned them too.” 

“And you’ve known that since?” Scott asked. 

“Yesterday.” 

“You said something yesterday,” Isaac said, “about Peter. I was wondering if you meant it.” 

“I said nobody likes him,” Stiles said. “I sure as hell meant that.” 

“No. About shooting him. Do you think... Do you think we could kill Peter?” 

Stiles could feel Scott and Isaac staring at him. Their eyes were boring into him, Isaac’s serious and slightly scared, Scott’s shocked and horrified. 

“Isaac, you should know not to take anything I say seriously,” he said. 

“But wasn’t that what yesterday was about? Why Derek invited us there? He was feeling us out, right? Trying to see what we thought about Peter, to see which side he’d take?” 

“Yesterday was about Derek attempting to have a social connection with someone that didn’t involve physical violence. And maybe giving you someone you can turn to in case Peter turns out to be a complete and utter monster to you. It wasn’t about making you pick Derek over Peter.” Stiles thought back to the conversation on Saturday and remembered that werewolves could sometimes pick up when someone lied, so he added, “It mostly wasn’t about that.” 

“But what you said,” Isaac started again. 

“Forget about what I said,” Stiles insisted. “Peter is freaking scary. He’s a killer.” 

“I know,” Isaac said. “I’m pretty sure he killed my dad.” 

***

Scott had work to get to but there was still so much to discuss, so Stiles offered to drive him there so they could continue the conversation. After they’d changed out of their lacrosse gear, they all piled into the jeep, with Scott and Stiles in the front and Isaac in the back. 

“Why do you think Peter killed your dad?” Stiles asked. He wasn’t doubting it, especially after talking to his dad, but he wanted to hear Isaac’s reasons. 

“When I accepted the bite,” Isaac said, “I told Peter that I didn’t want to be pushed around by my dad anymore. I told him I wanted to be stronger. I wanted to be free of him. A couple of days later, once we were sure the bite had taken, Dad was found mangled and dead at the cemetery. Peter came to me. He didn’t say he’d killed him but he told me I was free now.” 

“What about Erica and Boyd’s families?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t think he’s done anything to them.” Isaac gave a bitter laugh. “I think he thought he was doing me a favour by getting rid of my dad.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the jeep. Stiles had thrown out a joke about killing Peter but he’d not meant anything by it. When he’d first seen Peter in that club, he’d been scared of him but in the weeks since he’d learned more and more about him, and everything terrified him more. He’d been disturbed by what the chess game had revealed of Peter’s psyche, and he’d heard from Derek and Isaac about his victims. Peter was someone whose sense of right and wrong was serious skewed, and he had the power to do whatever he liked. 

“I know the police questioned you after your dad’s death,” Stiles said. “Did you say anything about Peter?” 

“What could I say? They all thought it was an animal attack anyway. Pointing fingers at Peter just seemed... dangerous.” 

Scott turned in his seat to look at Isaac and said, “I don’t get why you’re still with him if you know what he’s like.” 

“Because I know what he’s like,” Isaac said. “He’s a killer and we’re his betas. If we announced that we didn’t want to be his pack anymore, he’d take it as a personal affront and then we’d be dead.” 

They couldn’t leave Peter’s pack. They couldn’t just walk away from him. Which was why Isaac had asked about killing him. It was the only way Isaac could see out of this. The worst thing was that Stiles couldn’t see a way out either. 

“Hypothetically speaking,” Scott said, “what would happen if we could find evidence or get a confession or something that would convince the police of Peter’s guilt?” 

“My dad would try to arrest him,” Stiles said. 

“And probably end up dead,” Isaac finished. 

“I’m not getting my dad killed. I’ve said too much about Peter near him already.” 

“Maybe there’s someone else we could ask for help,” Scott said. 

It took Stiles about two seconds to work out which direction Scott’s thoughts had gone. 

“No!” Stiles said. “We can’t go to the Argents with this.” 

“Why not?” Scott asked. “They know about werewolves and they offered to help you when Derek threatened you at school. Maybe if we tell them what’s going on, they’ll be able to help with Peter.” 

“You’re forgetting the part where Allison’s mom scares the crap out of me,” Stiles said. He remembered that encounter, all the not-so-subtle threats, the way they’d felt that they could just grab him in public, the way Mrs Argent had hinted at the possibility of an unfriendly conversation. Something about the whole exchange had felt as intimidating as Peter’s overt threats. Stiles was no more likely to trust them than he was Peter. 

Besides, if they were to talk to the Argents, they’d probably have to tell them about Scott and Isaac and the others. Stiles had no desire to put them at risk from hunters. 

***

After dropping Scott off at the clinic, Stiles offered to drive Isaac home. When he saw Isaac’s reluctance, he added in what he hoped was a casual tone, “Or you could hang out at my place for a bit.” 

He and Isaac had never been friends, even when they’d had classes and played lacrosse together, but Isaac nodded at the suggestion. Stiles didn’t feel they were close enough to being friends to ask why Isaac didn’t want to go home yet. It might simply be loneliness, since he apparently lived on his own, or it might be fear that Peter would come looking for him and he would know that Isaac had been talking about betraying him. 

“It’ll be really dull though,” Stiles said. “I’ve got a bunch of homework that I need to get done.” 

“That’s OK. I’ve got some homework from my school. We can both just work.” 

Stiles drove on a little bit before asking, “What’s your new school like?” 

“Full of posh kids,” Isaac answered, “who don’t realise how lucky they are and who seem to think being poor is a disease they might catch.” 

Which probably added to Isaac's isolation, which no doubt was what Peter intended. 

“Do you have any friends there?” Stiles asked, just to be sure. He wasn’t remotely surprised by Isaac’s answer. 

“Just Erica and Boyd.” 

They drove a little further in silence. It wasn’t much further to Stiles’ house. He thought they might make it all the way there without saying anything else, but this time it was Isaac who broke the silence. 

“Do you think the Argents would kill us if they found out about us being werewolves?” he asked. 

“God knows. All I know is that they called Derek an animal and they scared the hell out of me.” 

Stiles reached the house and pulled the jeep onto the driveway. His dad wasn’t home yet, so Stiles offered Isaac a drink and then they settled down in the living room, homework spread about them. Isaac had a neat pile of textbooks, while Stiles’ were all worn and second hand. Stiles wondered if Peter had bought the books too. Was Peter make Isaac depend on him financially? 

Stiles didn’t have too much to do tonight. He grabbed his laptop from his room and got started on a history essay, and then he had an assignment for English that wasn’t due for a week but that he should probably start anyway. It was companionable to just be getting on with work, knowing that someone else was there but not needing to say anything. He’d done this with Scott enough times that it was easy enough doing it with Isaac, and Isaac seemed to be getting more relaxed as the minutes went by with nothing more exciting happening than equations and notes. 

They were still working sometime later when there was the sound of a car on the driveway and then the front door. 

“Stiles?” his dad called out. 

“In here,” Stiles called back. 

His dad started talking before he'd even made it into the room, saying, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about Lahey and the similarities to Laura Hale’s death and...” 

He stopped short in the doorway of the living room, staring at Isaac. 

“Yes?” Stiles prompted. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk about this now.” 

“If you’re talking about how Peter almost certainly killed my dad,” Isaac said, “I already know.” 

“But it isn’t something you felt you should inform the police of?” 

Isaac was still lying on his stomach on the living room floor, head in one of his text books. He shrugged a little, not looking up at Stiles’ dad. 

“It’s not like I could prove it,” he said, “and there’s no reason for you to get killed too.” 

Stiles was watching his dad’s face. He saw his dad’s eyes lift from Isaac and then meet his stare. There was anger clenching tight around his dad’s jaw, but he saw understanding in his eyes. Stiles didn’t say anything. He’d sworn that he wouldn’t say anything and he was terrified that his dad would get hurt if he got further mixed up with Peter Hale, but at least now his dad might get why he’d lied. 

“That night you went to the Hales’ club,” his dad said, “was it Peter Hale who kidnapped you?” 

Stiles didn’t say anything. He looked away. He knew saying nothing was as bad as admitting it because the fact he wasn’t giving a clear denial would be seen as proof in his dad’s eyes. 

“Why?” his dad asked. 

Stiles still said nothing. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” Isaac said. “Peter thought that Stiles was involved with one of his enemies and he wanted to interrogate him about it.” He caught the way Stiles was now glaring at him and said, “What? I didn’t make any secrecy pacts about that weekend.” 

Stiles’ dad walked over to one of the chairs and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to look at them. Both Stiles and Isaac were still on the floor with their books, so even sitting, Stiles’ dad was raised above them. He looked first at Stiles, then at Isaac, expression stern. 

“I want to know everything,” he said. “If Peter is as dangerous as you say, then you can’t decide what I do or don’t know. Tell me everything you know and everything you suspect, and let me decide what to do with it.” 

“I can’t,” Stiles said, remembering the promise, the threats that Peter had made if he were to break it. 

“I can,” Isaac said. 

“No,” Stiles said. 

“I’d rather trust him than the Argents. If Derek’s too scared to challenge Peter then we need help. I can tell your dad the truth and that way, you and Scott won’t have broken your deal.” 

Stiles wanted to argue, but a part of him wanted for his dad to know everything. He was sick of feeling scared and lost and confused. He would like an adult to take charge, to just tell him what would be best to do. And Isaac was right, Stiles had promised that he wouldn’t say anything. He hadn’t promised anything about not letting someone else talk. 

Isaac got to his feet and stood there, Stiles’ dad watching closely. 

“The reason we’re so scared of Peter,” Isaac said, “is because he’s a werewolf.” 

Stiles’ dad started to speak, either to argue or to tell him to get serious. But then Isaac’s eyes changed, glowing a soft yellow, almost gold. And his face changed too. He jerked his head from side to side as his features shifted and presumably the whole structure of his head on the inside was changing too. His forehead deepened, his ears lengthened, his teeth grew out into fangs. And then Isaac was standing there in front of the sheriff of Beacon Hills, looking as much animal as human. 

***

Scott hadn’t forgotten what Stiles had said about the Argents, but they needed help on this. They were just a bunch of teenagers way out of their depths. The Argents knew about werewolves. They knew enough to be sure that Derek was one. They had weapons; Scott had seen the arsenal in their house. If anyone could take on a dangerous, alpha werewolf, it was the Argents. 

When he got out of work, he started running, shifting into his part-wolf form so that he could get better speed. He raced through the woods around the town, distance pounding beneath his feet. He didn’t need to tell them about him. They didn’t need to know that he was a werewolf. All he had to do was tell them about Peter, get them to deal with Peter for him. 

He covered the distance in minutes, then took a moment to shift back. He wished he had a mirror so that he could double check that he looked completely human, but then he hurried out of the shadows of the trees and walked up to the front door. He knocked and the door was soon answered by Allison father. 

“Hi,” Scott said. 

“Hi, Scott. I’m afraid Allison’s not in at the moment. She’s studying with Lydia.” 

“That’s OK. I actually came to talk to you.” 

Allison’s dad stepped back from the door, inviting Scott in with a sweep of his hand. He was clearly surprised by Scott’s statement. 

“Me?” he said. “Well, if you’re here to ask for my blessing, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few years.” 

“Actually, I’m not here about Allison. I’m here about Peter Hale.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but the cliffhanger was too evil for me to resist. :)

Stiles stood in the living room, waiting for his dad to say something. He looked like he was about to at least three times, but each time he let his mouth shut. He was staring at Isaac, who’d shifted back into looking like an ordinary human. Every now and then, he’d look at Stiles instead, open his mouth, then shut it again. He dragged a hand through his hair. Stiles was getting twitchy from nerves but he didn’t know what to say either so he just let his dad process everything. 

“Werewolves are real,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but there was an air of bewilderment in his tone anyway, so Stiles answered. 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re dating a werewolf.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And Scott’s a werewolf.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And you got kidnapped because you smelled of Scott.” 

“And Peter thought I’d been sent as a spy by another pack, yeah.” 

“And you and Scott couldn’t tell me because Peter threatened to kill you.” 

“And two people I care about and two people Scott cares about,” Stiles said, “and I’m pretty sure Peter would start with you.” 

His dad gave a heavy sigh. 

“Well, I can’t go down to the station and report any of this or I’ll be out of a job and probably facing psychiatric review,” he said. “There’s no evidence against Peter because both the deaths we know about look like they were done by an animal.” 

There was a silence. Stiles wasn’t sure what to say but he hoped his dad would forgive him for not saying anything about this. Both the fear of not being believed and the fear for his dad’s life had influenced that choice and he hoped his dad would get that. 

But his dad seemed to have other things on his mind. A puzzled look crossed his face and he said quietly, “Huh.” 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“There might be more than two deaths.” 

“Other animal attack bodies that might have really been Peter’s victims?”

“No. The Hale fire.” 

Stiles exchanged a confused look with Isaac and then looked blankly at his dad, waiting for an explanation. His dad looked both surprised and a little exasperated at Stiles’ reaction. 

“You’ve been dating Derek Hale but you didn’t research this?” he asked. “You research everything. You didn’t look into what happened to his family?” 

“I know about how his sister died. And Cora mentioned that they’d lost the rest of their family but it didn’t seem right to pry.” 

“There was a fire. Derek, Laura and Cora Hale were all out of the house, practicing for a school event, I think, it’s in the reports. The rest of the family were all at home when the wiring shorted out. The fire spread fast. Peter Hale was the only person who made it out of the house alive.” 

“Derek’s parents,” Stiles breathed, wondering how it could possibly be that he didn’t know this. Cora had mentioned the fire in passing, as part of the explanation for why Derek had cut himself off, but Stiles hadn’t imagined the scope of it. 

“His parents, aunts, uncles, cousins. A lot of people died in that fire. There was an investigation but the reports were all inconclusive. There was never enough evidence to determine whether it was arson or accident.” 

“You think Peter could have been behind it?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re the ones who think he murdered his own niece. He was never a suspect for the fire at the time because he was caught up in it and it’s generally considered stupid to set fire to a building you’re in. But if he has magical healing abilities, maybe he set the fire while he was inside just to make sure the police wouldn’t suspect him.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Isaac said. 

But Stiles was thinking again of that conversation in the car with Cora, when she’d talked about Derek and about the way Peter treated him. Peter was a killer, but in his own, twisted way, he tried to protect his family. In the loft, when Peter had come across Stiles taped to the chair, he’d made a comment about what was close to Derek’s heart being close to his own. He’d tried to give him advice on how to be safe, because he’d thought Derek and Stiles were playing bondage games. He’d tried, in his creepy manner, to be nice because he’d thought Derek and Stiles were an item then. That didn’t quite fit with burning down his family. 

It didn’t fit with murdering Laura either, so Stiles couldn’t be sure one way or the other. 

“I don’t think he would be the one behind the fire,” Stiles said. His voice was filled with doubt though because his thoughts were. He could believe that Peter would set fire to a building with people inside, but he just wasn’t sure he would do it when those people were his family, his pack. If nothing else, werewolves were stronger with a bigger pack, Derek had told Stiles that. Peter would have nothing to gain by wiping out his family and stripping his pack of strength. 

“It’s not like I’d be able to do much with it anyway,” his dad said. “That case has been cold for years and I wouldn’t be able to link an old fire with a couple of animal attack cases without sounding insane.” 

“So we’re back to not being able to do anything legally,” Stiles said. 

“Yes,” his dad said, “and while I’d like to put a bullet through this guy’s head for hurting my son, I’m not above the law.” 

His dragged his hand through his hair again. Stiles wanted to hug him for that comment about shooting the person who’d hurt him, but this wasn’t the place. 

“A month ago things were a lot less complicated,” his dad muttered. 

“Tell me about it,” Stiles agreed. 

His dad looked at Stiles some more, then at Isaac. He gave another sigh and then straightened, apparently making up his mind about something. 

“I think the time has come that I meet your boyfriend,” he said. 

***

On any other occasion, Stiles would have considered it a little late to start for Derek’s place given that it was a school night, but there was no way any of them were going to let this wait another day. His dad was going to look into a few things, pull out what relevant files he had in the house or could get access to using his computer. Isaac had agreed to stay at their house. He’d looked relieved to be asked. Stiles suspected he wanted to be as far away from Peter right now as possible and this was as safe a place as any to hide. 

Not for the first time, Stiles wished he had Derek’s phone number. Presumably Derek had a phone. But whenever they’d hung out, Stiles had just gone over to Derek’s place unannounced. That was his only option now. He got in his jeep and started driving, wondering how he was going to break this to Derek. 

He hoped Derek wouldn’t be mad that Stiles had let his dad find out about the big secret. Technically, Stiles hadn’t broken his promise, but he wasn’t sure Derek would take much stock in technicalities. He was certain Peter wouldn’t. 

He wasn't looking forward this at all. This wasn’t going to be an evening of take out and bickering over whether to watch an anime with subtitles or dubbing. This evening Stiles would have to take Derek back to his father and spend the time talking about the murder of Derek’s family and the potential murder of one of the two family members Derek had left. There was no way this was going to be pleasant for anyone involved. 

He wasn’t sure how to break this to Derek. Should he just ask Derek to come over and meet his dad and save the rest until they got there? Or would Derek know there was more to it than that? Maybe Stiles should start by telling him that his dad knew and then ask him over? And should he ask? Asking made it sound like Derek could refuse but really Stiles needed to just tell him to come. But was trying to tell Derek what to do just suicidal and stupid? 

His thoughts were running in these circles when someone stepped out into the road. 

“Holy crap!” 

He stepped on the brake and the jeep screeched to a halt, the engine stalling as it stopped because it was still in gear. 

While he waited for his heart to stop trying to escape his chest, he realised that the figure standing in his headlights was Peter. He was still in human form, but his eyes were shining red, glowing like beacons in the darkness. 

Stiles’ heart was still racing and being glared at by glowing werewolf eyes wasn’t going to help that. For a moment, he considered starting the car and just driving forward. Would a full on collision with a jeep be enough to put down an alpha werewolf? Probably not or Derek wouldn’t be so damn afraid. 

What the hell was Peter even doing? Had he been waiting here for Stiles specifically to jump out at him? But how the hell would he know Stiles was coming? Or that he’d take this route? 

The questions were still flooding Stiles’ mind as Peter started walking around the jeep to the driver’s door. Stiles decided to panic now and figure things out later. He reached for the keys with shaking hands, trying to get the engine to restart. 

Then Peter flung open the driver’s side door and grabbed hold of Stiles’ wrist tight enough to hurt, tight enough to make sure Stiles didn’t have a chance of turning the keys in the ignition. Stiles gave a little noise of pain, somewhere between a whimper and a groan. 

“I take it this isn’t a social stop,” Stiles said, voice a little high pitched and tinged with panic. Peter could kill him in a heartbeat and there wasn’t a damn thing Stiles could do to stop it. Peter must know that Stiles had let his dad find out. That was the only explanation. 

Peter raised his other hand in front of Stiles’ face, nails lengthening to claws. He didn’t say anything, just looked calmly into Stiles’ face. Stiles was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from those claws. 

“Oh god,” Stiles muttered. 

When Peter slashed down with the claws, Stiles gave a little yelp of fear that was hugely embarrassing. It was probably a good thing that no one but Peter was around to hear it. It then took him several seconds to realise that he wasn’t actually injured. Peter had sliced through the seatbelt. He’d torn little gashes in Stiles’ top, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch on his skin. 

“Get out of the car,” Peter said. 

He towed on Stiles’ arm and gave Stiles no choice about obeying. Stiles had to climb out of the car because the alternative was getting his arm yanked out of its socket while Peter dragged him. Peter’s grip on his wrist didn’t relent. He pulled Stiles round onto the sidewalk. 

Stiles glanced around. There wasn’t anyone else in sight. They were on a patch of road with a few houses on one side and the start of the nature preserve on the other. He looked towards the houses, hoping against hope that someone would be looking out their window. Someone had to see this. But curtains were closed or lights were off. He didn’t think there was anyone to see. 

“I am sorry about this,” Peter said. 

“If you’re sorry, then don’t do it,” Stiles said. He was absolutely certain now that Peter was going to kill him. He didn’t have anything he could use as a weapon. He could try and knee Peter in the groin but that would probably just piss him off. 

“It’s a shame. Derek really does seem to like you. I’d even planned on offering you the bite, so you could truly be with him. But a deal was a deal. Scott really should have known better. He should have remembered that your life would be forfeit before he sold me out to the Argents.”


	17. Chapter 17

A part of Stiles wondered why the hell he was going along with Peter. Another part wondered why the hell Peter hadn’t killed him already. The rest of him was trying to get those two parts to shut up because, so far, he was still alive. The longer he stayed alive, the better his chances were of getting rescued. Or somehow overpowering the super-powerful werewolf who was planning on killing him. 

He didn’t think he stood much chance of getting out of this alive but the longer he could stall Peter, the more he could extend those tenuous odds. 

And yet, as he stumbled into the dark woods, Peter’s hand on his arm, he couldn’t help thinking that Peter had screwed up. Cora had talked about Peter like he was some grand chessmaster, planning every move he made in detail, thinking things through. Maybe Peter liked to think of himself like that, but he wasn’t. That night at the club, he’d reacted based solely on a scent, throwing his pack into danger from the Beacon Hills police force. He’d made a deal with Scott believing that Scott had a whole pack at his disposal, but he didn’t. And now, he’d grabbed Stiles when Stiles knew that his dad was waiting at home for him to come back. It was a small comfort, but it was still a comfort, to know that Peter wasn’t as clever as he thought he was. Maybe that meant his dad would be able to get revenge on Peter for this when it was all over. 

Tears stung Stiles’ eyes at the thought of his dad finding his mangled body. His dad would probably blame himself, for letting Stiles go off alone when he knew all the dangers that were now out there. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me say goodbye to my dad,” Stiles said. “Maybe leave a note or something.” 

Peter said nothing. His hand was still on Stiles’ arm, dragging him along beneath the trees. Stiles stumbled over stray branches and trees roots in the darkness, and that hand kept him upwards, kept him moving unrelentingly onwards. Stiles had no idea where they were going, but he knew he needed to stall, somehow. 

“What about Derek?” Stiles asked. “Can I leave a message for him?” 

Peter still said nothing. Stiles’ arm was really sore from where Peter’s fingers were digging in but he guessed complaining about that would be silly given that he was about to get clawed to death. 

“He already hates you,” Stiles went on. “I mean, killing his boyfriend before we’ve got past first base isn’t on the same level as murdering his sister but...” 

That was when Peter finally acknowledged that Stiles was talking to him. He spun round to Stiles, grabbed him around the throat with one hand and shoved him into the nearest tree. 

Stiles gave a little oof of surprise and his heart once more tried to race its way up his throat and out of his body. He stood there, shaking a little beneath Peter’s hand, Peter’s red eyes glaring into his. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything after all. Maybe this would just bring about his grisly demise all the sooner. He really should learn about not pissing off people who could kill him. 

“What happened with Laura was an accident,” Peter said, voice low and growling a little. 

Clearly Stiles’ mouth hadn’t got the memo about not antagonising the guy about to murder him, or maybe the fear was just short-circuiting common sense, because he said, “But I thought you were the strategic thinking king, who believes in planning everything moves ahead.” 

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut.” 

“Why? You’re going to kill me anyway. Someone should call you out on your bullshit.” 

Stiles felt sharp points pressing against his throat. Those fingers against his neck were turning into claws. This was the moment of his death. But somehow that thought, which should have made him quiet and obedient to buy more time, just made him realise that this could be his last chance. Any second now, it would be over and there were a million things that still needed to be said to Peter. No one else was going to say them and he’d never have another opportunity. 

“You have them all so scared of you,” Stiles said, “thinking that you’re some great strategist who knows everything they’re thinking or planning. You want them to think that. You want them to be scared of you because that way maybe they won’t notice that you’re scared.” 

Peter leaned in, his face so close to Stiles that Stiles longed to back away, but he was still pinned. Those red eyes were like burning fires, boring into him. Peter made a low snarling noise. 

“What do you think I have to be scared of?” Peter asked. 

“The truth. You want them to believe you’re so smart, so great at planning, because you’re terrified that they’ll learn that you’re an animal, at the mercy of every violent impulse.” Peter made another low growling noise, but Stiles ploughed on. He could feel the sharp pain at the side of his throat, the hot trickle which suggested blood was already flowing from where those claws dug in. Stiles’ voice trembled from the fear, but nothing in the world could stop him speaking now. 

“Except that’s not right either,” Stiles said. “I’ve done a lot of reading lately, about werewolves and wolves. The whole thing about wolves fighting to be the alpha of the pack is a complete load of bull. In the wild, a wolf pack is a family. They look after each other. They don’t have internal squabbles over who gets to be in charge. They certainly don’t kill each other over it. So you can’t claim you’re driven by wolf instincts and that’s what made you kill Laura. It’s not because of some grand plan and it’s not because you’re part wolf. It’s simply because you’re a murderer.” 

Peter clenched the hand tighter around Stiles’ throat. For an instant, Stiles struggled for breath, then Peter just yanked him away from the tree. Stiles hit the ground, skidding across it from the force of impact, face and arms scraping against the rough earth. Stiles rolled onto his back, wanting to still keep his eyes on Peter. He could see little but a dark shadow and those blazing eyes, but he didn’t need to see Peter’s face clearly to know that he was furious. 

“You think killing me is going to make this any better?” Stiles said. 

He backed away from Peter along the ground, shuffling back until he found a tree. Then, with shaking hands on the trunk, he pulled himself upright. 

“I know the truth about you,” Stiles said, “but killing me won’t make the truth go away. Killing me will get my father to bring down the entire weight of the sheriff’s department on top of you. You won’t be safe and your pack won’t be safe and they’ll see that it’s all because of you, because _you_ screwed up. You’ll be unmasked as incompetent. They’ll stop being afraid of you and you need them to be afraid of you because you know they’ll never love you. They’ll turn on you, Peter. Then you’ll be alone, truly alone.” 

“I’m already alone,” Peter said. 

He moved in on Stiles again, hand closing around Stiles’ upper arm. For another second, Stiles thought that this really was the end this time. But then Peter started walking between the trees and Stiles found himself towed along behind him again, stumbling in the dark. 

He wondered why Peter hadn’t just got it over with and killed him already, but even he wasn’t dumb enough to actually ask that question. 

***

Scott’s bike was still at school, so the only way for him to get to Stiles’ house was on foot. He tried to keep to wooded paths, away from the roads and places where he might be seen, and he let himself transform again, running through the trees in his werewolf form. There was something exhilarating about it, a joy in the speed that was unlike any other pleasure. He felt the distance fall away and then he was approaching the sheriff’s house. There was no sign of Stiles’ jeep, which was a surprise to Scott, but there were lights on downstairs and he heard voices. 

“It’s not just that he’s strong and fast,” someone was saying. “There’s the healing as well.” 

That was Isaac’s voice. What the hell was he doing here? And what was he saying? Scott had a horrible fear of what the subject of Isaac’s conversation might be and he hurried up to the door, knocking loudly to try and cut short the conversation inside before Isaac let slip something he shouldn’t. 

The door opened almost instantly and the sheriff was there. 

“Hi,” Scott said. “Stiles in?” 

And he walked into the house without waiting for an invitation. It was the sort of things Stiles would usually do at his house, but right now his priority was on finding out how much Isaac had said. 

“Hi, Scott,” Isaac said from the living room. His nervous expression said as much as Scott needed to know, but Isaac said it in words too, “I’ve told the sheriff everything.” 

Scott felt his heart pounding. He took a moment to try and still it, to calm down, because he couldn’t afford to lose control of his werewolf side now. He looked nervously towards the sheriff, wondering if everything really meant everything. The sheriff wasn’t looking at Scott like he was a dangerous monster, which might mean that Isaac had told some watered-down version. After all, Scott hadn’t even told the Argents everything and they already knew about werewolves and stuff. 

“Why?” Scott asked. 

“Because someone had to,” Isaac said, “and this way you and Stiles don’t have to break your promise to Peter.” 

“You really told him everything?” 

Isaac nodded. Scott gave the sheriff another look, waiting to be told that he couldn’t be Stiles’ friend anymore, that he was too dangerous for Stiles to be around. Waiting for some sort of reaction. But the sheriff seemed surprisingly calm, though he did seem tense. 

“Stiles has gone to get Derek,” the sheriff said. “They should be back any minute. Then we can have a real conversation about what needs to happen next.” 

It sounds like hiding and hoping that the danger would go away on its own wasn’t an option the sheriff was considering. So now it was time for a confession of his own. 

“I’ve talked to Chris Argent,” Scott admitted. “I didn’t tell him everything. I didn’t tell him about me being a werewolf,” he looked at Isaac, “or about you, Erica and Boyd. I told him that I knew about the Hales and that Peter Hale was a killer. He said he’d discuss things with the others and come up with a plan of attack. It may be that all we need to do is stay out of the way and the Argents will take out Peter.” 

“But what if they go after Derek too?” Isaac asked. 

“Chris promised me that they only hunt werewolves who’ve killed someone.” 

“Derek doesn’t trust the Argents,” Isaac said. He was glaring at Scott, like Scott had somehow betrayed him by talking to Chris. But Isaac was the one who’d spilled Scott’s secrets to his best friend’s dad. At least Scott had kept Isaac’s name out of things. 

“When he gets here,” the sheriff said, “we’ll see if he has any ideas on how to handle this development.” 

The sheriff glanced at his watch. He walked a few paces and then looked at his watch again. It was almost exactly the same body language as Scott had seen from Stiles about a hundred times when Stiles was nervous about things. Scott could practically smell the sheriff’s anxiety. 

“How long has Stiles been gone?” Scott asked. 

“About forty minutes.” 

Scott tried to remember how long the drive had taken when Derek had dropped them off after the kidnapping incident. Twenty minutes was probably about right, and Derek hadn’t come all the way to the house. Plus Stiles might have to argue with Derek about coming here, now that the sheriff knew the truth. Forty minutes was nothing to be worried about. 

Scott glanced at his watch. 

“I’m going to call him,” Scott said. “And see how close he is.” 

The sheriff gave a nod of agreement. The tension didn’t diminish any. 

“If he doesn’t answer,” Scott said, “it doesn’t mean anything. He might decide not to answer while driving and he’s probably close enough that he’ll decide it doesn’t matter.” 

He was saying it as much to reassure himself as the sheriff, even as he pulled up Stiles’ number from the menu on his phone. He hit the call button and held the phone to his ear, trying to keep his heart rate steady. 

The ringing stopped as the call was answered. 

“Stiles?” Scott said. 

“I’m afraid not,” said a voice that filled him with cold terror. Across the room, Isaac stiffened, no doubt listening in to the other side of the call. The sheriff wouldn’t be able to hear, but he noticed the reactions of the two werewolves and he looked downright terrified now. 

“Peter,” Scott said, putting the phone onto speaker so that the sheriff would be able to hear. 

“You broke your promise, Scott,” Peter said. “You went to my enemies and that makes you my enemy.” 

“Is Stiles...” Scott couldn’t finish the question. His voice faltered over the last word. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask if Stiles was dead. Because that had been the penalty if he broke the deal with Peter. 

Tears stung Scott’s eyes. He’d made the deal with Peter to keep Stiles alive and somehow Peter had known when he’d broken it. And now, by the very pact they’d made, Stiles’ life was forfeit. 

“He’s alive,” Peter said. “You have one chance to keep him that way.” 

Scott’s throat was closing up too tightly for him to speak. His best friend was in mortal danger because he’d been stupid enough to think he could talk to the Argents and no one would know. 

“If you hurt my son,” the sheriff said, “I will personally hunt you down and put a bullet between your eyes.” 

“Why, sheriff, how pleasant to speak to you again,” Peter said, voice perfectly calm. But beneath his words there was the sound of another voice, an angry voice, far enough away from the phone that the words were indistinct. Those words Scott did manage to hear were not flattering. Stiles was swearing at Peter. 

At least that was proof that he was definitely still alive. 

“Excuse me,” Peter said, his voice still pleasant. The swearing got a little louder, then there was a sound which could only have been from an impact of fist against flesh. The swearing stopped. 

Then Stiles’ voice said, quietly but distinct, “If you hurt my dad, I will haunt your sorry ass and make every minute of eternity a torment to you.” 

The cold knot of terror in Scott’s stomach clenched tighter. Because Stiles hadn’t made some wild and implausible threat of violence. He’d threatened to haunt Peter. The only threat he’d been able to come up with was becoming a ghost. Scott knew right then that Stiles didn’t believe he was going to survive. 

Scott’s voice was trembling as he spoke, “You said I could save Stiles.” 

“You went to my enemies,” Peter said. “So go to them again and bring them to me. When the Argents are lying dead in the place where they burned my family alive, where they burned _me_ alive, then I will let Stiles go.” 

“You want me to kill the Argents?” Scott asked. 

“And you might want to hurry about it. If Stiles keeps talking to me with such disrespect, I may have to get creative about shutting him up.” 

“Stiles,” the sheriff said, speaking quickly, “if you can hear me, don’t antagonise him. Just cooperate. Do whatever he says and I…” 

But the call had already cut off. 

“I love you,” the sheriff added in a final whisper, speaking to the silent phone. 

Scott’s hand was trembling as he held the phone. He felt like he might be sick. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, though the words were worthless. He’d promised secrecy to Peter and now Stiles was going to die because he hadn’t kept that promise. 

The sheriff looked as pale and ill as Scott felt, but he reached out and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. He looked Scott directly in the eye and said, “We’re going to get him back. We just need a plan.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Your plan sucks,” Stiles said. 

He was sitting on the floor in the corner of a burned out room in a burned out shell of a house. Stiles had no doubt that this was the house his dad had talked about, the one where the Hales had lived before it had burned down under questionable circumstances. Peter had taken him to an upstairs room and just dumped him there while he had the phone call with Stiles’ dad. 

Peter clearly hadn’t thought this kidnapping through thoroughly, because he didn’t have anything here to restrain Stiles. This time round, there were no chains. There wasn’t even any duct tape. Despite that, Stiles didn’t have any hope of making his escape from the house. Peter had seen to that by stamping down on Stiles’ leg with werewolf strength. From the shooting pain that filled that entire limb every time he so much as twitched it, Stiles suspected that there was a serious break. He wouldn’t have a hope of standing, much less running away fast enough to escape a werewolf. 

But he wasn’t going to let a minor thing like agonising pain keep him from giving Peter a piece of his mind, particularly since Peter didn’t have anything handy to gag him with this time around. 

“Your grand plan is to get Scott to kill a family of werewolf hunters for you?” Stiles said. “Even setting aside the fact that he cried for a week when he had to help Deaton put down a cat that was dying of cancer, there’s the fact that they’re frigging _werewolf hunters_. Do you really think Scott will be able to just walk up to them, kill them, and drag their bodies out here for your approval?” 

Peter said nothing. He was standing by one of the broken windows, a torn sheet of plastic covering the opening, now flapping in the wind that blew in from the woods. He didn’t even move to acknowledge that Stiles had spoken. 

“And, seriously,” Stiles continued, “your plan involves you telling people who hate you and have every reason to want you dead, exactly where you’re going to be waiting for them? You’re seriously throwing out your image as a patient and cautious chessmaster now.” 

“I am through with patience,” Peter said. They were the first words that he had uttered since the phone call and they came out sounding harsh and angry. He turned to face Stiles, eyes still blazing red in the darkness, making it difficult to see anything but those malevolent points. 

“Can you imagine,” Peter said, “what it felt like to be inside this house when the fire started? To hear the agonised screams of your sister, your brothers, cousins, nephews and nieces? To smell the smoke and the stink of your own searing flesh? To hear the little ones, the innocent children, crying out for someone to save them as they choked and burned? Can you imagine drawing in every breath with a lungful of smoke, feeling your skin char from your body, reaching for daylight but only finding more smoke, more pain?” 

Peter was still staring at Stiles, who gave a nervous swallow and said, “No. I can’t imagine it.” 

“Then you can’t imagine the hell that came afterwards, the pain that made the fire itself seem like a blessed memory. I was trapped in my own body, aware and in agony, as my flesh healed itself slowly, piece by piece. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even scream. I survived that hell, kept myself from despair with the knowledge that one day I would find the people responsible. I endured, I healed, I came back to myself because I knew that I would one day make them pay with blood for all they had put me through.” 

Peter leaned down over Stiles, looking him directly in the eye. Stiles had a horrible feeling that those glaring red eyes would be the last thing he ever saw. 

“I knew the Argents did it, but Laura wouldn’t listen,” Peter said. “When I found proof, when I found the name of the one who’d arranged it all, even then she wouldn’t listen. She was weak and afraid. She was the alpha. She should have protected the pack. She should have taken out our enemies. She should have destroyed them all, like they destroyed us. She should have killed them! And she refused.” 

“Is that why you killed her?” Stiles asked. 

“All those years, those years spent where every moment was agony, where all I could hear were the echoes of those I’d heard die, all I could think about was getting justice. And she said no!” 

His words were a low snarl. Stiles could feel his breath with every utterance. Peter was right in front of him, crouched down over him, fury burning in those eyes. Stiles suspected that Peter was completely out of his mind, driven that way by years of living with this anger. He had finally snapped and now there would be blood. Stiles wondered if killing Laura had somehow sent Peter over the edge. 

“I didn’t want to kill her,” Peter said, “but I wasn’t going to let her stand in my way anymore. I won’t let anyone stand in my way.” 

“So now you’re going to get revenge.” 

“I’m going to get justice.” 

“How is killing me justice?” Stiles asked. “These people did awful things, I’m not denying that, but that doesn’t give you free reign to commit murder. If you kill me it won’t be justice. It won’t even be revenge because I haven’t done anything to you. Just like Laura didn’t do anything to you. You’ll just prove yourself a murderer. A monster.” Stiles knew it was probably stupid to say all this, that he should probably just keep quiet and hope his dad was on his way to rescue him, but he couldn’t seem to stop the flow of words. 

Peter reached out a hand. He rested it against Stiles’ cheek in a gesture that was almost a caress. Stiles leaned his head sideways, trying to escape the touch. But there was nowhere to go. Even if he hadn’t had a broken leg, he was effectively pinned into the corner by Peter. 

“The deal with Scott complicates this,” Peter said, “but I can’t just let him get away with betraying me. I planned to just kill you, as a message to him. I would have made it a quick death though, for Derek’s sake. Derek would be upset if you suffered.” 

“You don’t care about Derek,” Stiles said. “A real alpha would care about the pack. A real alpha would look out for family, not just try to use them. You care more about your own revenge than what happens to your pack. You don’t care that if you try to fight the Argents and lose, they might decide to hurt Derek and Cora too. You don’t care that your own pack are terrified of you, that they hate you as much as your enemies do. If you were a real alpha, you’d care more about protecting them than about killing the Argents. Maybe Laura was a real alpha, but you’re sure as hell not.” 

Stiles knew he should probably be more concerned about the fact that Peter had just implied that a quick and suffering-free death was no longer part of the plan. Stiles was probably going to spend the last few hours of his life being tortured. But if Peter made it slow, maybe that would give his dad time to get here, time to save him. 

“Some of my kind show from an early age that they possess the spirit of an alpha,” Peter said. “From that point on, they are trained for it, knowing that they will one day take over the pack from the current alpha, or branch off to start a pack of their own where the numbers are too big. They grow up prepared for the burden and responsibility of leadership, of protecting their pack. Laura was born for this, her mother’s daughter through and through. Her eyes started showing red before she turned twelve.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure where Peter was going with this family history lesson, but it beat being tortured so, for once, Stiles decided to shut up and just go with it. 

“Derek’s no alpha,” Peter said. “I know he dreams of killing me, but even if he takes my powers, he won’t be an alpha in his heart, no matter what colour his eyes are. Cora might be a little better but even she would flinch away from what it really means to be an alpha. And those sniffling children I brought to the pack are too busy looking for someone to follow to ever think of leading. A pack needs an alpha. They would be lost without me.” 

“You’re not the only alpha around,” Stiles said. 

“You mean Scott?” Peter asked. He made a derisive noise and stood up straight, finally moving away from Stiles. Stiles drew in a relieved breath that Peter was no longer looming so close. He felt like he needed to wash his face to get rid of the memory of his touch. Peter didn’t appear to notice this. He just moved back to the window and looked out at the woods. 

“Scott is too afraid of his own power,” Peter said, “to use the gift he’s been given. He wants to hide away, pretend to be normal, pretend to be human.” Peter spat that last word like it was an insult. 

“Hey,” protested Stiles, “there is nothing wrong with being human.” 

Peter laughed. He turned back to Stiles and crouched down in front of him again. This time, when he reached out towards Stiles, he pressed a hand against Stiles’ leg. Stiles screamed even before his conscious mind recognised the pain. Peter pressed down against the break and shooting agony raced through the injured limb. 

“A wound like this could heal in minutes,” Peter said. “You will be stronger and faster. You will never get sick. You will be able to fight for those you care about, instead of just running your mouth off with empty threats.” 

Stiles didn’t want to think about the fact that Peter had started talking about what could happen and then rapidly moved on to using the word ‘will’. Peter seemed to be thinking about this as a foregone conclusion. 

“I don’t want to be like you,” Stiles said. 

Peter finally removed his hand from Stiles’ broken leg. The pain diminished, sinking to a throb that pounded in time to the beat of his heart. 

“You were right earlier,” Peter said. 

“I’m right a lot of the time,” Stiles said. “You’ll have to narrow it down.” 

“I’m taking a huge risk in telling Scott where to find me, especially now that I know he’s been talking to the Argents.” 

“And there’s the fact that my dad will be hunting you down too,” Stiles said. “Don’t forget that.” 

“I want justice,” Peter said, “and I’m done waiting for it. I’m done with playing it safe. So let them all come and I will finally fight those who caused all this. But there is a risk. Perhaps the hunters will get lucky. Perhaps Scott will finally make use of his power.” Peter sounded almost amused as he continued with, “Perhaps your father will live up to his threats and put a bullet in my head.” 

“Here’s hoping,” Stiles said. He waited for another blow, maybe another broken bone, but if Peter had heard he wasn’t bothered. 

“The pack needs an alpha,” Peter said. “All packs do. If I die, Derek will try to lead but _that_ will not end well. They will need a werewolf in the pack who will be the kind of alpha my sister was, one who will protect and care for the members of the pack, who will fight for them even when scared and facing impossible odds.” 

Peter’s shining eyes were fixed on Stiles’ again. It was difficult to make out anything else about his expression in the shadows but a horrible tension was clawing at Stiles’ insides. 

“Are you suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting?” Stiles asked. 

“Of course not,” Peter said. “A suggestion would imply you could refuse.” 

***

They picked their way carefully through the woods. They were approaching the house from different sides, partly to avoid any potential traps Peter might have set, and partly to pen him in. If Peter was there alone, then maybe someone could draw him into a fight on one side, while the others snuck in to rescue Stiles. Assuming Stiles was still alive. 

Scott picked his way through the trees. Off to his right, he could see the sheriff’s flashlight as he found his own way through the darkness. On his left, Scott could hear movement but not see anything. The Argents were using night vision equipment. Somewhere on the other side of the house, far away enough their movements indistinguishable to Scott’s ears from the general noise of the forest, were Derek and the rest of his pack. 

Scott had told the Argents that Peter had taken Stiles and was threatening his life. He’d told them that Peter had let slip where they were. He hadn’t told them that Peter had specifically asked for Scott to bring them. He certainly hadn’t told them that Peter had told him to kill them. 

Scott had called Derek had filled him in on everything. He still had Derek’s number from when Derek had been trying to recruit him into Peter’s pack. He couldn’t help wondering how much trouble they would have avoided if he’d given Stiles Derek’s number. But it hadn’t occurred to him to offer because he’d just assumed Derek would have given it to Stiles, and it probably hadn’t occurred to Stiles that Scott might have it. It was no good regretting what had or hadn’t been said. At least not right now. All they could do now was hope that they could get to Stiles before Peter did something evil to him. 

The house appeared like a spectre from the trees as they got closer. It was a shadowy form, looming large and dark above them. Scott let his eyes shift. He didn’t want Peter to see them if he happened to be looking out, or the Argents for that matter, but it would be easier to see what was going on with his eyes changed. Everything became clearer. The colours faded away, but he could see more sharply in the dim light. So far, there was no sign of movement from inside. He strained his ears, hoping to hear something, some sign that Stiles was still alive. 

Scott waited, crouched low in the undergrowth. He had to wait until they were all in place. They hadn’t much of a plan, but they needed to start with surveillance. They needed to know for sure that Peter was there. The more they knew, the less likely this was to end with bloodshed. If there was a way for this to not end in bloodshed. 

At this point, all Scott could really hope was that it was the right blood. He knew that the Argents were going to try and kill Peter. He knew that Peter definitely wanted to kill the Argents. A part of Scott just wanted to get Stiles out of there so he could let the others do what they wanted. 

They needed a way of communicating with each other, some way to signal when everyone was in place because Scott had no idea where the other werewolves were. They could be already waiting like him or they could be still picking their way through the nature preserve, given that their route to the house required more of a detour. They had phones on silent and could text, but it was going to be difficult to coordinate anything. Argent had wanted more time to plan things through, but the sheriff hadn’t wanted any delay and Scott had agreed with him wholeheartedly. Every minute Stiles was with Peter, he could be in horrendous pain. 

Scott saw the first hint of movement and then a body was flung from the trees and into the clearing in front of the house. He had a moment to work out what the hell had happened and then Derek was there, pinning someone to the ground. It was Kate Argent. 

A crossbow bolt shot through the air, embedding into Derek’s arm. He didn’t release his hold on Kate’s throat. He just turned towards the house. 

“Peter!” Derek yelled. “Let Stiles go and you can kill her yourself.” 

On the ground, Kate struggled with one hand to break the grip Derek had on her throat. But with the other hand, she pulled a knife from a sheath. She drove it into Derek’s leg. He made a pained noise but didn’t loosen his hold. 

“Let her go or I’ll shoot you in the head,” Chris Argent said, still within the cover of the trees. 

Scott heard a snarling and then there were other werewolves on Chris. He heard gunshots but he couldn’t tell if anyone was hurt. Scott wondered how everything could have turned to chaos so quickly. 

He heard the sheriff yelling that this wasn’t going to help anyone, that they had to focus on their real enemy. 

But maybe this chaos could help. Maybe if Peter was distracted by what was happening out here, he wouldn’t be paying as much attention to the other side of the house. 

Scott started running, dodging through the trees and skirting the edge of the big clearing. He could still hear voices from the other side. Chris was calling out, either to Peter or Derek, saying that this violence was unnecessary, that the fire had been an accident and that his family had nothing to do with it. He was trying to plead for reason, saying that there was no need for anyone to get hurt. They just wanted to get an innocent human boy to safety. 

Scott still couldn’t see any sign of movement in the house. Was it possible that Peter wasn’t even here? That this whole thing was a set up? 

Scott eyed a broken window and double-checked every other window he could see. He didn’t think anyone was on this side of the house. Hopefully, Peter was too busy watching Derek threaten to murder Kate. Scott broke from cover and raced across the clear ground between trees and house. He got a hold of the windowsill and vaulted in through the empty space that had once held glass. When his feet hit the floorboards inside, one, charred and damaged from the fire, snapped beneath his foot with a much louder noise than he would have liked. 

Scott froze. Had anyone heard that? 

Outside, Chris was saying again that the Argents hadn’t been behind the fire. 

“You might not have been,” Derek replied, “but she was.” 

“Oh, I can’t take all the credit,” Kate said. “I never could have done it without you.” 

Scott inched his way along the blackened floor, listening out for any sound of movement from within the house, but all he could hear was the conversation outside. 

“What the hell’s she on about?” a girl’s voice asked. Probably Derek’s sister. 

At the same time, Chris gave a distressed, “Kate, no.” 

Then Kate yelled, “Did he tell you, Peter? Did he tell you that the reason I could burn your family alive was because he brought me into the house? All because he wanted to have sex with me. Your nephew sold out your family for sex!” 

From somewhere above Scott, there came a sound that shook the whole of the ruined building. It wasn’t a wolf’s howl, but a roar. It was the sound of pure rage made vocal.


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles had heard every word from outside the house. When the fighting started, Peter had held him pinned, a hand over his mouth so that he couldn’t call out to those who’d come to rescue him. He heard Derek’s voice, and those of the Argents, and, with a surging joy when he recognised it, his dad’s voice. He couldn’t see what was going on out there now, but he could make a pretty good guess. 

Then the woman’s voice yelled out, dropping her bombshell. She admitted to setting the fire but, more than that, she had been sleeping with Derek. She’d used him to get access to the house. 

Peter finally let his hand fall from Stiles’ mouth. He threw back his head and just roared, a wall of sound shook the entire building. Peter’s face and body contorted, fur springing up, limbs changing shape, as he became something bigger and more powerful than Stiles had ever seen. He was taking a shape that looked more like a bear than a wolf. And still he was roaring out in his fury, mouth open and showing those vicious fangs. 

And Stiles was sitting less than three feet away from him with a broken leg and a wound on his arm that was still gushing blood down his side. He had never wanted a weapon more than at that moment. 

Peter wasn’t interested in him anymore. He just leap forward, through the broken window, not caring that he tore out the frame and a huge chunk of the wall as he did so. The building shook again from the impact but then Peter was gone, outside. 

Stiles scrambled along the floor, pulling himself across the dirty board and kneeling up on his good leg so he could look out through the new hole. There on the ground below him, Peter shoved Derek out of the way, sunk his claws into the woman on the ground and the _wrenched_. Something hit the side of the house with a soft splat. Peter drove his claws into her again, ripping through flesh, slashing her apart. An arm actually went flying. 

Stiles thought he might be sick from the sight, but there was another part of him, the part that had heard her admit to using Derek and murdering his family, that was more than a little glad to see her die. 

Someone started shooting. No. It was more than one person. Stiles could see muzzle flashes from two guns as they emptied clips into Peter. 

“Stiles?” The voice came from behind him. Stiles turned, the movement jarring his leg and sending shoots of pain up it. How long before supernatural healing kicked in? 

“Scott?” Stiles asked. He couldn’t see who it was in the darkness, but a pair of eyes gleamed red and Stiles had recognised that voice. An instant later, Scott was at his side. 

“Oh god,” Scott said, touching a hand to the wound on Stiles’ arm. 

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles said. “I mean, my leg’s broken and I’m in considerable pain, but the werewolf bite will take care of that before too long.” 

“He bit you?” Scott sounded shocked. “I thought he was going to kill you.” 

“He changed his mind.” 

Outside, gunfire still rang loud. Somewhere out in the darkness below were snarls and yowls of pain. 

“Come on,” Scott said. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

Scott crouched beside him and worked an arm under Stiles’ armpit and round his back. Stiles got his hand over Scott’s shoulder and he let Scott lift him upwards. He kept his weight on his uninjured leg and lent into Scott’s side. Using Scott as a crutch, he hobbled across the room. 

Outside, the gunshots had ceased. He heard voices. Chris Argent was protesting that he hadn’t known what Kate had done. 

“Put him down or be put down!” Stiles’ dad yelled. Stiles couldn’t see what was going on outside anymore, but it didn’t sound like it could be good. 

Stiles, still leaning on Scott, made it to the top of the stairs. This would be more difficult. Stiles wasn’t sure he trusted the stability of the stairs at the best of times, much less with the two of them trying to climb down together. Stiles leaned a hand on the banister and clung to Scott, basically hopping down the stairs. 

“They killed our family,” Peter snarled, voice sounding more animal than human now. 

“He’s not the one who killed Laura,” Cora replied. 

There were more noises, scuffles and snarls, the snap which Stiles recognised all too clearly now as the breaking of bone. Someone gave a scream of pain that was part animal yowl. The voices dissolved into chaos again. 

Stiles tried to focus on his own difficult journey, limping down the stairs with Scott’s help. They reached the bottom of the stairs and now Stiles could see out through the open door of the ruined house. Peter was at the heart of the chaos, in his alpha form. Erica and Boyd were fighting him, all claws and teeth as they tried to get a hold. 

Peter tossed Erica aside like she weighed nothing and then Isaac was there, leaping into the opening that had been made and attempting to rake claws down Peter’s back. Peter turned quickly, caught Isaac on the claws of one hand, and then tossed him aside as well. Then with a shifting of his huge form, he threw Boyd to the ground and stamped a clawed foot onto his stomach to hold him down. 

Scott tried to push Stiles behind him, but Stiles wasn’t going to be pushed aside easily. He limped forward still, his leg still a burning agony but managing to hold his weight a little. Stiles clung to the doorway and got a better look at the clearing. 

The werewolves were clearly hurting, but still fighting. Derek’s shirt had been slashed off him in bloody rags, but it didn’t seem to have slowed him down. He charged in now, body low, focusing his attack on Peter’s leg so that Boyd could get himself free. 

Stiles saw his dad across the clearing, and a wave of relief washed over him. His dad was reloading his gun, but he didn’t seem to have been so much as touched. 

Chris Argent was down, a motionless figure lying beside his sister’s gruesome remains. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious, but there could be no doubt about Kate. 

Peter kicked Boyd out of the way and grabbed Derek by the throat, lifting him from the ground. Derek drove his claws into Peter’s arm, but Peter didn’t release his hold. 

“All I wanted was justice!” Peter snarled. 

“Killing Derek isn’t justice,” Stiles said. His voice was quiet, but the sound of it seemed to flow across the clearing like a tidal wave, washing away the chaos and noise. All eyes locked on him. Peter turned his head, red eyes meeting Stiles’ in the darkness. He stood there for a moment, just looking at Stiles. 

Stiles wondered what was going on inside Peter’s head right now. He was fighting his own family, the pack he’d supposedly wanted to protect. He’d already done the thing he’d claimed he was fighting for. Kate Argent was dead, just a mess of body parts scattered around the clearing. Peter had got his justice and killed the one who’d burned his family. All he was doing now was hurting those he cared about. 

Peter dropped Derek to the ground and leaped up onto the porch in a single stride. 

“No!” Stiles’ dad yelled, and fired off a shot that burst through Peter’s shoulder, splattering Stiles with blood. Stiles flinched back from the spray but he didn’t dare let go of the doorframe or he’d fall. 

In an instant, Peter was standing right in front of him. 

Peter grabbed Stiles’ hand in one giant paw. Before Stiles even knew what was happening, Peter dragged his claws across his own throat, dragging Stiles’ hand along with it. The spurt of blood flowed warm and wet down Stiles’ hand and he gave a cry of disgust and terror. 

Then the red light faded from Peter’s eyes and he collapsed at Stiles’ feet, his shape diminishing even as he fell until the body that hit the boards of the porch looked like that of a human. Peter stared up with empty, lifeless eyes, and Stiles felt the heat of the blood that still soaked his hand and clung in warm droplets to his face and chest. 

That heat seemed to burn into him, seeping through his skin and into something deep inside. It reached the core of him, flowing out along his veins until it tingled through every part of his body. It burned away the pains that had filled him, replacing them with something else, a sense of energy and power that felt like nothing he’d experience before. His heart raced with the thrill of it. 

Stiles felt like could run a marathon or climb a mountain or dance all night or do them all at the same time. The energy surged through him, unrelenting, brilliant but burning in his body, like lightning in his veins. It felt painfully, brilliantly beautiful. 

It was too intense. 

He needed to do something to rid himself of this energy, to stop the building of the fire inside. Stiles threw back his head and opened his mouth, letting forth a roar of sound that carried with it this strength, this power. Stiles let it all loose, all this raw strength. He screamed it out in a roar that shook the woods. 

“Stiles?” His dad’s quiet voice made it through the immense noise of Stiles’ roar. It sounded timid. Scared. 

Stiles dropped his head, looking for his dad. He stood there, in the middle of the clearing, taking cautious steps towards Stiles. He still held his gun in his hand, but his other hand was out towards Stiles, raised up in an appeasing gesture. There was a tremble in that outstretched hand. He was afraid. He was afraid of _Stiles_.

That thought sent ice through Stiles, erasing the burning thrill of the power. He didn’t want his dad to be afraid of him. Not ever. 

What if his dad hated him now? What if he thought Stiles was a monster? 

Stiles felt Peter’s blood, still warm and sticky on his hand. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t like Peter. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t asked to become this. 

Stiles met his dad’s eyes. 

Stiles dropped to his hands and knees. Acid burned his throat as he vomited out the contents of his stomach. He heaved uncontrollably, throwing up until there was nothing left inside and then still heaving, as though he could purge this power from him. 

“Stiles!” His dad’s voice was in his ear. Hands were on him, rubbing his back, touching his shoulder, offering soothing warmth as Stiles trembled and heaved. 

“Stiles, no. Not again.” Derek’s voice. He was on the other side of him, hands against Stiles’ arm, helping him to sit back against his heals. Stiles’ stomach was still heaving and churning but there was nothing left to come up. Stiles just trembled. He leaned sideways against his dad, but he let his hand, the one which wasn’t covered in Peter’s blood, reach out and clench around Derek’s hand. Derek squeezed it back. 

“What’s happening?” Scott asked, standing over Stiles and hovering nervously. 

“Is he rejecting?” Cora asked. She was standing below them, the rest of the pack gathering round, looking with concern in Stiles’ direction. 

Derek reached out and touched a hand to Stiles’ cheek, saying, “I don’t know.” 

Stiles let the voices wash over him. He didn’t feel able to cope with anything right now. 

***

Stiles didn’t really remember getting home. Derek and Scott took him there. His dad wanted Stiles well out of the way before he called in a report on the dead bodies of Kate Argent and Peter Hale. Killed by some wild animal would be the report. Stiles wasn’t really aware of what was happening with Chris. 

He moved in a daze when he reached the house. Scott helped him up to the bathroom and then sent Derek off to get food. Stiles stood in the middle of the bathroom while Scott helped him get his clothes off. Scott helped Stiles sit down on the edge of the bath so he could pull his shoes off and then he hesitated. 

“Come on, bro, you’re going to have to help me here,” Scott said. “I really don’t want to have to do the next bit for you.” 

Stiles retained enough awareness to stand and strip off his pants and briefs. Then Scott guided him under the showerhead and turned on the water. Warm water flowed down over Stiles, running pink as he washed away the blood. When he felt the warmth, his body seemed to realise it was cold and he started trembling. 

The trembling turned into sobs. 

Stiles leaned against the tiles of the shower and cried, body shaking as heavy tears flowed down his cheeks and mingled with the flow of the shower. 

“Stiles,” Scott said quietly from the other side of the shower curtain, “do you need anything?” 

Stiles looked at his hands where they rested against the white tiles. They looked so ordinary, his own, normal fingers. They looked perfectly human, clean now from the blood that had stained them. He hadn’t killed Peter. Consciously, he knew that, but he could still feel Peter’s blood there. He could still feel what it had been like when his fingers moved through the openings on Peter’s throat. He felt like he’d been the one to do it. 

“Stiles?” Scott said again. His voice was soft and quiet, like he was speaking to a frightened child. 

Stiles needed to pull himself together. He needed to stop acting so fragile and weak. He needed to be strong. Especially if what he thought had happened had actually happened. 

“Clothes,” Stiles said. The first word he’d spoken since Peter’s death. “Clean clothes.” 

“OK. I’ll get something.” 

The door opened and closed. Stiles stood a minute longer below the shower. He turned the heat up to near scalding, letting the heat penetrate through his chilled flesh, scrubbing every part of him until even the imagined bloodstains were washed clean from his skin. When he finally stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a large towel, Scott had already been and gone, leaving a pile of clean clothes on top of the laundry basket. 

The ruined clothes Stiles had been wearing were gone, but there were smears of blood still marking the tiles. Stiles could smell the blood. It filled his nostrils in a rich scent. It should make him want to vomit again, but there was something invigorating about it, something that called to the power deep inside. _That_ was what made him want to vomit. 

Stiles dried off and pulled on the clean clothes. Scott had picked well and soon Stiles was snuggled inside an old, comfortable hoodie. He emerged from the bathroom to find Scott waiting for him in the hallway. 

“You OK?” Scott asked. 

“Are you applying for an award for world’s stupidest question?” Stiles asked. The words didn’t have their usual bite of sarcasm to them. Stiles said them like he was reading them from a script, saying what was expected, but Scott managed a small smile at them anyway. 

Stiles managed to walk downstairs without any help, which wasn’t bad for a guy who’d had a severely broken leg a couple of hours ago. Derek was lurking in the kitchen. He appeared to have grabbed random food from the cupboards and stuck it on the table. He’d even attempted what for him counted as cooking; there was a pair of toasted pop tarts on a plate. He looked like he wanted to reach out to Stiles, but then he backed away, waiting for Stiles to cross the room, sit down, and start eating. He felt exhausted, drained, even with the power flowing through him, and all Stiles felt capable of doing was lifting food to his mouth, chewing and swallowing in a mechanical manner. 

“It’s OK,” Scott said to Derek, polite but strained, “I’ll take it from here.” 

Derek fixed him with a cold look. 

“He’s pack,” Derek said. Stiles couldn’t tell a thing about what Derek was thinking from that tone of voice. It was hard, unbending, serious. He didn’t seem in any way happy about the situation. There was a brief staring contest between Scott and Derek, but then Scott was the one who looked away. 

Scott dropped easily into the chair beside Stiles’, but Derek still stood there awkwardly. He was a mess. His clothes were ripped to shreds and marked with blood, but the wounds that caused them had already healed. A shower and a quick change and no one would be able to see the hell he’d just been through. Like Stiles. 

Stiles bit into a pop tart but then waved a hand towards one of the other chairs. 

“Eat something,” he said. “You must need your strength after all that slashing and clawing you were doing earlier.” 

Derek sat down. He shot Scott and uncomfortable look, but then he reached for a bag of chips and tore it open. 

“Well, someone needs to start talking,” Stiles said, after a few minutes of nothing but crunching and chewing. 

“Peter gave you the bite,” Derek said. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I told him he was an idiot, I think. I’m not sure there was anything resembling logic going on in his head in the end, but he was saying stuff about how the pack would need an alpha. I guess he decided I was alpha material.” 

Stiles waited for someone to argue or say that it was ridiculous. He was expecting someone to say that Peter had clearly been insane. But Derek just gave a small nod and continued to crunch his way through the bag of chips. 

Stiles turned to Scott, “Did you seriously go to the Argents and tell them everything?” 

“Not everything,” Scott said. “I thought they could help.” 

Stiles gave Scott a light whack around the head. At least, that was the intention. The blow had a lot more than he anticipated and he nearly ended up slamming Scott face first into the kitchen table. 

“Oh crap!” Stiles said. “I really need to work on this werewolf strength thing.” 

“It’ll take time,” Derek said. 

“That’s for sure,” Scott agreed. 

“And I’m...” Stiles started, but he wasn’t sure how to ask this question. There was still so much about werewolves he didn’t know. “That thing Peter did, where he got his blood on me when he died, did that make me...? Am I?” 

“You’re the alpha of our pack,” Derek said. “Your pack.” 

“Crap,” Stiles muttered. 

“You care about the pack. Even before they were your pack, you wanted to protect them. You worried about Isaac. That’s the way an alpha should be.” 

Stiles ate a little more, thinking back over the last few hours of his life and all those scary conversations with Peter. 

“I think Peter did care,” Stiles said. “He just cared about revenge more.” 

“I thought he was going to kill me too,” Derek said, “when he heard the truth from Kate.” 

That strained look was on his face. His eyes were downcast. There was something, almost a scent in the air. That was guilt, Stiles knew, though he didn’t have a clue how the hell he knew. Part of the reason Derek was withdrawn, the reason he shut himself off from people, was guilt because of the fire. The little pieces he’d heard from Cora clicked into place with the things he’d heard tonight. 

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly, “did you know that Kate was going to try and kill your family?” 

“Of course not,” Derek said. 

“Then you’re not to blame. She was a scheming, lying bitch who was manipulating you. It’s not your fault.” 

“I was an idiot.” 

“Lots of people are idiots,” Stiles said. “Scott was an idiot for going to the Argents after specifically promising Peter he wouldn’t and thus causing my second kidnap and basically kicking off everything that happened tonight.” 

“Sorry,” Scott muttered. Stiles ignored him for now and kept talking to Derek. 

“Derek, you didn’t kill your family. Kate did. You shouldn’t blame yourself for anything she did.” 

Derek wasn't looking at Stiles. Stiles was certain Derek had heard him, but that didn’t mean he’d listen. 

“So what happens now?” Stiles asked. 

“That’s up to you,” Derek answered. “You’re the alpha.” 

Stiles had never felt less prepared for something in his life. Peter had thrust him into this position, giving him power and responsibility that he’d never asked for, that he’d never wanted. He now had a pack looking to him and he didn’t know where to begin. He hadn’t even been able to look after himself after the shock of Peter’s death, much less look after anyone else. He stared at the empty plate in front of him and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. 

The front door opened and closed. Stiles waited in the kitchen and, a few moments later, his dad came in to join them. His dad took in the sight at the table and said nothing. He just went to a cupboard and pulled out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. Stiles watched as his dad poured himself a measure and downed it in a single mouthful. His dad stared at the empty glass for a minute, then put the cap back on the bottle. He came over to the table and sat down. 

“I never thought I’d help cover up a murder,” he said. 

“What are you telling people?” Stiles asked. 

“Chris and Kate were in the woods testing out some night vision equipment that his company is considering selling. Peter Hale was presumably hanging around near the old house. Derek, we might need you to mention that he would go out there to feel close to his family if he couldn’t sleep. While everyone was out there, they were attacked by a mountain lion. It killed Kate. Peter tried to get it to stop and Chris shot at it. One shot missed and hit Peter, which is why he has a bullet wound. The mountain lion killed Peter but then Chris shot it and managed to hit it. The mountain lion must have been scared off and run away injured. We’ve now got people hunting the preserve for an injured mountain lion.” 

“Chris Argent?” Derek asked. 

“Alive. A broken arm, a few cuts from the claws but nothing serious. I don’t think anyone will be looking too hard for a person behind the deaths with all the animal-like injuries.” 

“What about all the… um… evidence I left on the scene?” Stiles asked. There was vomit and blood all over that house. 

“We’re saying that Chris threw up after the danger was over. Shock. Perfectly natural reaction to seeing people die like that.” 

His dad met Stiles’ gaze. There was sadness in those eyes, but understanding too. And not a trace of blame. 

“So what do we do now?” Stiles asked. 

“Get some sleep. I’ll call your school and say you’re ill so you won’t have to go in. Scott, go home, and you might want to have a frank discussion with your mom about this. But none of you were there. The three of you were at home in bed when all of this was going down. The same goes for the rest of your… pack. Understood?” 

There were three nods from round the table. Alpha or not, Stiles was glad that his dad was taking charge. 

“Derek,” his dad said, “you’d better clean up before you go. I’m sure Stiles can lend you a shirt.” 

Derek looked down at his ruined clothes and nodded. Stiles quickly clasped Scott’s hand before Scott headed off. He wasn’t sure if he should be thanking Scott for helping him or punching him for this whole mess, but he was glad Scott was there all the same. When Scott left, Stiles climbed up to his bedroom, Derek trailing behind. This wasn’t the way he’d imagined Derek first coming into his bedroom. 

“The bathroom’s through there,” Stiles said, pointing. “I’ll find you a shirt.” 

Thinking about it, he must have one of Derek’s shirts around here somewhere. He’d borrowed a shirt when he’d been kidnapped the first time. Derek hesitated on the landing outside Stiles’ room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but all he did was stand there, staring at Stiles, who was rummaging around for the shirt. 

“Derek, telepathy doesn’t appear to be a werewolf power I possess, so you’re going to need to use words.” 

Derek took a step into the room. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from Peter.” 

“Derek, you have nothing to apologise for. Peter should apologise, but he’s dead. Kate should apologise because she’s the reason Peter was so screwed in the head, but she’s also dead. And I guess Scott should apologise too for being a moron but that’s between me and him. You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” 

Derek said nothing. Stiles guessed he was still feeling like he needed to apologise even if he didn’t voice the words. Stiles left his drawers and went over to Derek, taking Derek’s hand in his. 

“None of this is your fault,” Stiles said. “Maybe you don’t believe me now, but I will keep telling you every day if I have to until you believe me. This is not your fault. What Kate did, what Peter did, they chose to do. You don’t have to feel guilty for them.” 

Stiles leaned in and gave Derek a quick kiss on the lips. Derek barely responded. 

“I thought,” Derek said quietly, haltingly. “When you started vomiting… I thought… Sometimes humans reject the bite. They don’t turn. They just… die. I thought it was going to happen again.” 

“Again?” Stiles asked. 

“Paige. That’s what happened to her.” 

“Your first girlfriend?” Stiles thought he remembered the name from his first conversation with Cora. 

Derek nodded. “I convinced an alpha to give her the bite, so that we could be together. But she died. I thought it was happening again.” 

No wonder Derek was so screwed up. One girlfriend died and another turned out to be a homicidal maniac. Suddenly the terror he’d expressed when admitting he liked Stiles seemed a bit easier to understand. 

Stiles squeezed a little on the hand he still held. 

“Well it’s not happening,” Stiles said. “I’m fine. I’ll _be_ fine. As for the rest, we’ll figure it out. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Derek looked him in the eye and managed a weak smile. Stiles guessed that was as good as it was going to get for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't tag Stiles becoming a werewolf because it's such a major spoiler for the story.


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles slept most of the morning and then, since he was still excused from school for the day, decided that there were certain things that needed doing sooner rather than later. He called his dad first to let him know because while he couldn’t afford to be seen hiding behind his dad’s badge, it was a good idea that he knew where to look if things went horribly wrong. His rescue party pre-emptively lined up, Stiles went to the Argents’ house. 

Victoria Argent opened the door. She didn’t look at all surprised to see him. 

“We wondered how you would do this,” she said. “I thought you might bring the whole pack to try and intimidate us.” 

Stiles didn’t feel at all intimidating. He was a werewolf in the house of a family of werewolf hunters who were generally armed to the teeth. Even if he did have power now, he didn’t feel remotely comfortable with this situation. 

“I’m not here to intimidate anyone,” Stiles said. 

She showed him through to the living room and Chris came to join them. He had his arm in a sling but otherwise looked remarkably unscathed after the fight last night. Except for his eyes. They showed redness from tears. 

The two Argents sat down on a couch and Stiles sat down across from them. It seemed an unlikely setting for peace talks. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Stiles said. “I didn’t ask to be bitten or for Peter to make me the alpha in his place. But it’s happened and now we need to decide what to do with it.” 

“We?” Victoria asked. 

“Yes. Because whatever happens now doesn’t just affect me. It affects the pack, and your family, and Scott, and Allison, and my dad, and the sheriff’s department, and everyone living in Beacon Hills. I can’t just sit here and announce how things are going to go because this is bigger than that. We need to reach an agreement about how things are going to be.” 

Stiles thought that Chris maybe looked a little impressed with him, but it was Victoria who said, “So speak, and we’ll see if we agree.” 

Stiles swallowed nervously. 

“I haven’t killed anyone,” he said. “Neither has any member of the pack.” 

“That’s not true,” Chris said. “Derek’s eyes turn blue. He’s killed at least one person.” 

“He’s not dangerous though.” 

Chris leaned forward a little looking Stiles in the eyes, “Yes, he is. So are you. All werewolves are dangerous. You may think you’re a person, but underneath it all the animal wants to kill. One little slip up and someone ends up dead.” 

“And what was your sister’s excuse?” Stiles asked. He felt the terror that maybe Chris was right, that maybe he would snap and lose control of this new power, but he couldn’t afford to let it show. 

Chris leaned back again. He was a little less definite when he said, “Kate thought it was better to be safe than sorry. She thought that all werewolves would eventually kill and that it was better to take no chances.” 

“So she burned down a house with children inside. Very humane.” 

This wasn’t the way he’d wanted this to go. He wasn’t supposed to be getting into accusations. He drew a breath. 

“Look,” he said, “let’s try this again. Kate is dead and Peter is dead. There’s no point in continuing arguing and pointing fingers. We should focus on the future.” 

Victoria gave a cold smile, “In the future, if your pack should shed blood in Beacon Hills, we will come after you with every force at our disposal.” 

“And if you kill me, I’m pretty sure my dad will crucify you. Mutually assured destruction.” 

“So what do you suggest?” Chris asked. 

“Simple: I suggest a truce. I don’t want to have to spend my time looking over my shoulder for guys with crossbows and I don’t want that for the pack either. We let the violence end with Peter and Kate. You stay away from us, we stay away from you, and it’s over.” 

“That’s it?” Victoria asked. 

“That’s it. All I am asking for is a truce, a promise from both sides that there won’t be violence. Do you agree?” 

Stiles held out a hand across the gap. For a long moment, Chris and Victoria both stared at that hand, as though touching it could give them some terrible curse. Then Victoria leaned forward and reached out her own hand, taking Stiles’. 

As their hands clasped, she said, “But if any of your pack break this truce, there will be blood.” 

Stiles couldn’t resist smiling at her and saying, “And yet you think we’re the blood-thirsty ones.” 

***

Stiles turning up unannounced on Derek’s doorstep was turning out to be a regular thing. Derek was there waiting for him, letting him in without a word. 

“Hey,” Stiles said. 

“Hey.” 

They stood there, looking at each other across the room, as awkward as they’d ever been. But it was different now. Stiles could tell a lot more about what was going on in Derek’s head. He wasn’t sure if he was picking up on scents or if there was something else going on, something to do with the power he still felt racing through him. Derek was just looking at him, but there was guilt and shame in that look, there was pain and grief and so much else that Stiles just wanted to hug Derek and make those feelings go away. 

But he couldn’t erase the past. 

“I’m going to need your help,” Stiles said. “I may be the alpha, but you’re the one who knows about being a werewolf. The full moon is coming and I’m going to need to know how to control this. Will you help me?” 

“I’ll help you.” 

“Thanks. I guess this gives me a great excuse to hang around with you too, so, bonus.” 

Derek turned away. 

“We shouldn’t be together,” he said. 

“Why? Because I’m the alpha? Is there some werewolf etiquette thing I’m not aware of?” Derek didn’t reply. “Or is it because of Kate? Because you feel guilty that she used you?” 

When Derek spoke, his words were quiet enough that Stiles needed werewolf hearing. 

“You can do better than me,” Derek said. 

Stiles laughed a little. Derek seemed to shrink into himself, slumping his shoulders down. Stiles instantly regretted his reaction and the laugh died on his lips. 

“When Scott told me that you liked me,” Stiles said, “I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t see how it could possibly be true. How could someone like _you_ possibly like someone like _me_? Now I see it’s because you measure your self-esteem levels in negative numbers. That doesn’t mean the rest of the world sees you that way. Derek, you are gorgeous. And you are caring, you worry about your family and your pack. You’re brave. And did I mention the abs that I want to lick whipped cream off?” 

Derek didn’t seem to be listening. Or if he was listening, he didn’t seem to be really hearing the words. Derek really didn’t see the value in himself. 

A thought occurred, a little memory associated with an anime show. That show Derek had introduced him to had a scene in the middle where a character had thought about how people struggled to see good qualities in themselves but could see them in others. In the show, the character had talked about those good qualities being stuck on their back. 

Stiles walked across the room and stepped round Derek, staring at his back. 

“Wow, that’s huge,” Stiles said. 

“Huh?” Derek asked, twisting round to try and look over his shoulder at Stiles. Stiles laid a hand in the middle of Derek’s back, feeling him warm and strong through the fabric of his shirt. 

“The plum,” Stiles said. “The one on your back. It’s huge.” 

Derek turned round, catching Stiles’ hand in his own. 

“Idiot,” he said, but there was a small smile on the corner of his lips. 

“Just because you can’t see it,” Stiles said, “doesn’t mean it’s not there.” 

This time, it was Derek who leant in and kissed him. 

***

On Saturday, Stiles summoned the pack. He would have called it an invitation, but there wasn’t really much choice about attending. He also invited Scott, since this would affect him too. Besides, Scott was his bro. Alpha or not, Stiles wanted him involved in the pack. Stiles had spoken to everyone involved over the past couple of days, but this would be the first time for them all to be together. 

He picked Derek’s place, partly because it was bigger, but also because it had a bigger TV and Stiles wanted this to be about more than business. Derek didn’t seem to mind. Pretty soon, everyone was gathered around, sitting on the couch or the beanbags. Stiles paced a little nervously. He’d been awake half the night planning out how to say this. 

“So,” he said, “you guys all know that I’m the alpha now. This doesn’t mean I’m going to start throwing my weight around and barking orders and insisting that everything must be done my way, because I’m not a total douchebag. Peter knew he wasn’t a very good alpha so I have no intention of following his style. So there are going to be very few rules. First one, don’t go around maiming and killing people.” 

“Does that really need to be a rule?” Isaac asked. 

“Yes, because if anyone breaks it the Argents are going to try and slaughter us all and my dad will probably try to kill me too if I murder anyone. So, no maiming and killing. Everyone OK with that rule?” 

There were minor chuckles. No one was going to argue. 

“The second rule is that the problems of the individual are the problems of the pack. If you have a problem, whether it’s bullies at school or you can’t afford food or you’re being attacked by a hoard of were-kittens, you tell me and we try to solve it as a pack. I can’t promise I’ll have all the answers but at least I’ll be able to pat you on the shoulder and make you a mug of cocoa. So if you’ve got a problem, big or small, you bring it to me and we’ll try to figure it out as a pack. Everyone OK with that one?” 

“What if it’s a personal problem?” Erica asked. “Because, trust me, there are going to be some problems that I deal with that you wouldn’t have the first clue how to deal with.” 

Stiles had to admit that he hadn’t considered that. 

“I can still give you cocoa and make sympathetic noises,” he said. “Even if it’s something I can’t fix, it can be good just to talk. So individual problems are the pack’s problems. That’s rule two.” 

There were nods of agreement and acceptance, even from Erica, though Derek looked like he might have an allergic reaction to the concept of talking about issues. 

“Rule three,” Stiles said, “is pack day. Saturday is pack day. We are all going to spend time together. Maybe not all day if you’ve got other stuff on, but everyone needs to show their face for some of it. We’ll watch DVDs, play board games, go bowling, I don’t know what else, just hang out. Under Peter, the pack was a collection of individuals looking suspiciously at each other. That needs to end. From now on, we’re in this together. So this is the first pack day but it won’t be the last. Understood?” 

There were more nods from around the room, even an encouraging smile from Cora. 

“What else?” she asked. 

“That’s it,” Stiles said. “Those are my rules. Welcome to the new world order.” 

There were faint chuckles, as though people couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Scott was smiling though. Even Derek managed to meet Stiles’ eye and give him a little smile. Everyone was a little nervous, which was hardly surprising after everything they’d been through, but no one was arguing with him. They all seemed ready to try this, which was all Stiles could really have hoped for. 

“Cool,” Stiles said. “Then let’s get the pizza ordered and stick a disc in. I’m going to start off with a show Derek introduced me to, which has a nice theme about a bunch of misfits coming together as a family, and this whole bit about people with plums stuck on their backs.” 

Most of the group looked confused at that, but there was a small smile on Derek’s lips, which was good enough for him. 

He’d ordered the box set of Fruits Basket after having watched the illegally downloaded copy twice, and now he got out the first disc, slitting it into the slot below Derek’s TV. Around him, the pack shuffled, repositioning themselves to get a better view of the screen while Stiles checked the settings and started it off. 

“Stiles, no,” Derek said, when he spotted the language settings. 

“This has a fantastically well done English dub, so that’s what we’re going to enjoy.” 

“We’ve been over this,” Derek protested. 

“Who’s the alpha here? If I say we watch dubbing, we’re watching dubbing.” 

“I thought you weren’t going to throw your weight about,” Derek said. 

“About most things. This, I am laying my alpha law down on. We’re not watching this with subtitles.” 

Isaac gave an exasperated chuckle, “Can you two stop flirting and just hit play already.” 

Stiles sat down on the couch, holding on to the remote to stop Derek from changing the settings, and he started the show playing. Beside him, Derek leaned against his side. It was a subtle gesture of closeness, of togetherness. Stiles snuggled in closer and Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles. 

Stiles started to think that maybe they could be OK. They had their problems and issues and insecurities, but at least he could make sure that none of them were alone now. They had fought the physical battles. The emotional ones would take longer and be more difficult, but they too could be fought. He couldn’t wave a magic wand and make Derek’s guilt vanish or wipe away the memory of Isaac’s abuse or his own fears that somehow he’d screw this up, but at least they would be able to tackle those things together. 

Stiles let himself relax against Derek. He wasn’t perfectly happy, but he was content. 

At least until Derek’s draping arm made a grab for the remote to change the language settings.


End file.
